


Wings

by kishiriaz



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishiriaz/pseuds/kishiriaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Emperor and Horus retrieve a Primarch from Baal Secundus.  Coming of age/coming out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

_They say that the sight of the Angel of Blood soaring through the skies of Baal Secundus gave courage to his people. They say that when the blessed Primarch St. Sanguinius, first saw the Emperor that he recognized him on sight and knelt before him. They say that he wept tears of joy that became alabaster flowers wherever they touched the red dust of Baal Secundus. Honestly? “They” need to shut the feth up. --Mojib Dawd Gul, Secundan historian (suppressed by the Inquisitio_ n)

If the sun of Baal Secundus could make a sound, it would have screamed. It would have screamed as it tore flesh off bones, thought Horus Lupercal as he trudged across hot sand, following his father's cloaked back. All around them was desert; red sand and scrubby plants here and there. Once in a while they'd see a lizard. Horus's skin burned, even under the white sun shawl over his head.

“It's no worse than Kuwait in 1991 of the Old Calendar,” the Emperor told his son for a water break. “The heat felt like knives on skin. I was in armour, with no climate control inside of it. Remember that.”

Horus said he would. Coming from anyone else, he would have inwardly scoffed at such an old-timer's story, but coming from his Father, it impressed him deeply. Of course, the Emperor had that effect on people. Even people like Horus.

“I believe I see a road over there,” the Emperor said to him.

Their boots finally clunked on hard-packed red clay. Someone had spent precious water on this long ribbon of hardened dirt that led through the dusty scarlet desert. After plodding through loose sand and dust for hours, walking on the primitive road seemed positively restful.

Over the next rise, they found a house. It was mud brick, surrounded by a high stone wall with broken glass embedded at the top. In front of it was a large tent, open on one side. The canvas floor was covered in carpets that were worn, but clean. Big pillows were arranged neatly around a long, low table . The smell of woodsmoke and roasting meat was in the air.

As they approached, an older man emerged from behind the tent. He was dressed in loose pants and a knee-length tunic as they were, with a long grey vest over all. A white square of fabric was bound about his head. “Peace, brothers! Come rest for a bit. I’m Agagul. Welcome to my home.”

The Emperor smiled widely. Horus was taken aback, not used to strangers coming up and offering them hospitality. Still, if the Emperor felt confident, Horus would too. He followed his father to the tent.

Agagul settled onto a large cushion and gestured to a glass pitcher on the table. “I have tea. Are you here for the shura, or does some other mission bring you out today?”

“Tea would be a great gift. Thank you,” the Emperor said. “My name is Diwa, and this is my son Pir”.

The man looked up. “Bibi!”

A tall woman, weatherbeaten as the man who’d called her, came to the entrance to the tent. She was dressed similarly, with bright blue stone rings braided into her graying hair.

“We have visitors, I see. The cabridon’s not cooked yet, but there’s plenty of imbau.” She put a bowl on the table, followed by a plate of hot flat bread.

Horus looked at the bowl. It was filled with a cooked rice-like grain with shredded vegetables. It smelled wonderful; savoury and sweet at the same time.

“Eat!” Agagul placed his right hand over his heart and touched the bowl. The Emperor and Horus did the same. The Emperor tore off a piece of bread, scooped up a large handful of food and munched happily.

“Thank you, this is delicious.”

Horus nodded. “It’s very good.” The tea was good too, spicy and hot.

“I’m sorry the meat’s not ready,” Bibi said. “We are expecting more people coming from the other direction, once the shura’s over.”

“This is more than enough.”

“It’s a few hours till the end of the shura,” Agagul said. “I hope you don’t miss it.”

“Even a few minutes of seeing Blood-Angel is worth the journey though,” Bibi said.

“This is true,” Agagul agreed.

“So I’ve heard,” the Emperor said. He looked at Horus and gave a barely imperceptible shrug.

“You’ve never seen him then?”

“I haven’t. I want to see if the stories are true.”

“He’s not ten meters tall,” Bibi said. “Three, maybe. Not ten.”

“He did kill 100 mutants at once, though. It is known,” said Agagul.

“People say he killed an army that blackened the sands with their numbers. People don’t need to exaggerate. He’s mighty enough when the truth is told.”

“Sounds like a good thing for Pir to see.” The Emperor ruffled Horus’s short brown hair.

“How many children do you have?” Bibi asked.

“Eight, with one on the way,” the Emperor said. “Pir is my eldest.” Horus caught the Emperor’s meaning. _This Angel must be our Primarch._

“We have five sons, two daughters,” Agagul told him. “The boys are all at the shura. The girls are married and don’t live with us.”

“May you be blessed with many grandchildren.”

“And you, Diwa. “

“Thank you. I’m sure I will be.”

Strengthened by food and drink, the Emperor took hold of Horus as soon as they were out of line of sight from the house. “We’d best get to this shura quickly. It sounds like it’s almost over,” the Emperor explained.

“We're going to teleport?” Horus asked, in order to brace himself.

“I think that would be for the best.” The Emperor placed both hands on Horus's shoulders, and a stomach-churning moment later, they were standing in the shadow of mountains. It was mercifully cooler. The sun still burned, but there was a comforting light breeze. Horus looked up and saw that the mountains had been shattered at some point by something colliding with great force against them. Rubble marked where the mountaintop had been hit and crumbled forward.

“A promising sign,” the Emperor said, then pointed in another direction. “Look there.” About a hundred meters away was the edge of a natural ampitheatre. It was full to the top with people and a few animals. “It seems we've found the place.” The two of them walked to the edge of the slope. The Emperor took hold of Horus's hand and used a slight mental influence to inspire people to move out of their way. The crowd was mostly male, all seated on the dusty ground. None protested as father and son descended to the floor of the ampitheatre to take seats of their own to the side of a large canopy that dominated a portion of the ampitheatre wall.

Beneath the canopy sat what looked like a younger version of the Emperor. He was dressed in a plain beige robe with a sun shawl draped around his shoulders. Like the Emperor, he had olive skin, patrician features and long, dark hair. He was enthroned on a high wooden chair with a heart-shaped back that was upholstered in gray fabric. He was easily three meters tall; Bibi had been quite correct.

For a man who could kill a hundred mutants by himself and who was known as the “Blood Angel”, his expression was remarkably sweet. There wasn't the slightest hint of cruelty in his noble features. As he leaned over to talk to what seemed to be an advisor, he found something pleasing in what the man was saying and smiled broadly, his face lighting up in happiness. Horus felt his hearts suddenly pound in his chest. _This_ was a primarch. _This_ was what a son of the Emperor of Mankind needed to be like. He was handsome, loving and utterly perfect. Ninth Legion would be blessed among the others to be under the rule of one such as him.

“If there are no further actions to be brought to my attention,” the primarch said, “I am ready to adjourn this shura until next year. So one last time, is there anyone here who requires justice?”

The Emperor stood. “It's time,” he said to Horus. “Mind your eyes. It's about to get very bright in here.”

Horus had been with the Emperor when they had found several of his other brothers. He knew what to expect and braced himself. He followed his father across the floor of the ampitheater. The Emperor strode along confidently, the armed men who stood around the primarch's canopy moving wordlessly to the side. The Emperor stood in front of his newest son, who looked curious, but not alarmed.

Then the ampitheater filled with golden light as the Emperor showed Himself. The crowd gasped and rose to their knees, and the whole place was filled with the sound of people crying out in wonder. The Master of Mankind towered above everyone there, clad in golden armour that shone like the sun. As always, a crown of gold laurels adorned His head. His scarlet cape flowed dramatically in a wind that only touched Him.

The primarch gasped and rose to his feet. He leaped forward over a low wall in front of him, slightly clumsy under the weight of what they had thought was the back of his chair, but was now shown to be a strange backpack that extended from over his head to his feet. He fell to his knees in front of the shining giant and embraced him around the knees. The ampitheater fell silent but for one sound; that of the primarch sobbing.

“Father,” he whispered, “you're here. I knew you'd come. I didn't know who you would be or when you would come, but I always knew you would.”

“What is your name, child?” the Emperor asked gently, placing one ungauntleted hand on his son's dark hair.

“Sanguinius,” he said. “I'm called Sanguinius, because I was adopted into the Blood.”

“Rise, Sanguinius,” the Emperor told him, and raised him to his feet. Horus could see that the backpack was indeed taller than Sanguinius, and from the shape of it, he guessed it was a musical instrument. Fulgrim would be pleased. From the shape of the instrument, Horus was guessing it was a harp.

Then as the Emperor put his arms around Sanguinius, the backpack gave a sudden twitch.

The Emperor emitted an uncharacteristic “Hm?” and reached for the gray fabric. Sanguinius took a step back, eyes widening with alarm, but the Emperor had the fabric in an unbreakable grip. He reached for a knot tied in a strip of fabric around the bundle and tore it off. The gray cloth fell from what Sanguinius was hiding.

_Wings._

Horus gasped a little, both because they were so unexpected and so beautiful. Freed, they spread out, over twice Sanguinius's height, snowy white feathers gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Horus was immediately reminded of a swan, until the implications struck him.

Horus felt his eyes start to burn at the thought of something so perfect, so full of beauty, having to be slain. Sanguinius obviously felt the same way. He dropped to the ground in front of the Emperor.

“I had nothing to do with this, Father. I was like this when they found me. They wanted to kill me, but didn't. I made good here, my deformity has never stopped me from doing anything.”

“I think you have done more than good here,” the Emperor said, kneeling and placing a hand on his son's shoulder. “You have taken a radiation-poisoned feral world and brought it order. Now we will bring it into my Imperium. Baal is no longer alone, and neither are you.”

He stood and turned him towards Horus. “This is Horus. He is one of your brothers, and the first one I discovered after you were all taken from me. Horus, come greet Sanguinius.”

Horus walked over, placed his hands on Sanguinius's shoulders and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Sanguinius smiled wanly, and Horus thought he was probably in shock. This was a lot to take in, even for a demigod.

“People of Baal Secundus, rejoice!” the Emperor announced. “I am your ruler, and Sanguinius is my son. From now on, you are part of the great Imperium, to be treasured and protected. There will be technology. There will be trade. And there will no longer be fear!”

The crowd started cheering and chanting. It took a second for Horus to recognize what they were saying.

“ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL!”

“That's what they call me”, Sanguinius said. He seemed embarassed.

“Superstition, but it's fine as a nickname,” the Emperor assured him. “Ferrus isn't a Gorgon, nor Fulgrim a Phoenix. But come now. Let's bring you home.”

“What's going to happen to my people if I go with you?” Sanguinius backed away again. “It took me years to make this part of the desert safe. I can't just abandon everyone!”

“Already, there is a regent for you,” the Emperor told him. “He will arrive with your army as soon as we leave.”

Sanguinius pointed to the stands. “But this is my army.

“They will be part of it. I have a Legion for you, my son. They are already trained and ready to submit themselves to you as their Primarch, and my son.”

He put his armoured arms around his two sons and the divine trio disappeared even as a crowd of slightly smaller giants, clad in plain, unpainted armour, appeared within the ampitheater.

The three of them re-materialized in the Emperor’s throne room aboard ship. Sanguinius’s knees buckled slightly from surprise and disorientation. The Emperor and Horus each caught him by the elbow.

“...where home is!” Sanguinius was shouting as they materialized.

“Welcome to my flagship,” the Emperor said.

“This is a ship?” Sanguinius asked. Horus could understand why he’d be confused. The chamber was round, walled and floored in marble. The ceiling towered 100 meters overhead and gave a view of space.

“We're in the night sky. Did you just kill me, Father?”

“This is a ship,” the Emperor assured him. “We’ll be here for a few weeks. Horus will introduce you to the culture of Terra and what it means to be a primarch.” He placed a reassuring hand on Sanguinius’s shoulder. “It’s a lot to learn, and it will seem overwhelming at first. Just follow Horus and trust everything will be all right.” He stopped to embrace his sons and walked off through a door that had been concealed behind a marble wall.

“But--” Sanguinius dropped his hands to his sides.

Horus stood by his side. “It's as Father said. Don't worry. We're going to Terra, the original home of all humans. That's where Father has his palace.”

"What happens first?” Sanguinius asked Horus. He was staring blankly at the wall through which the Emperor had disappeared.

“First we get you clothes.”

 

The vestorium was a square metal tunnel deep in the ship. Along the walls, human tailors and undead servitors worked with gigantic rolls of fabric, sewing machines of various sizes and handworked fine details. Horus didn’t think this would be particularly weird to Sanguinius, seeing that there had been quite a number of fine fabrics present at the shura, but it was. The noise visibly shook him, although he immediately caught himself and restored an expression of calm.

“It is loud in here,” Horus agreed. “We won’t be here long.”

“What are those things?” Sanguinius asked as a servitor rolled past him with a spool of fringed trim a meter across. “They smell dead.”

“Servitors. They’re criminals who were condemned to death, after which we put them to work. Don’t worry. They’re murderers and rapists and other allegedly human monsters who richly deserved their fate.”

Sanguinius looked unconvinced. “Keep them away from me.”

“Lord Horus!” exclaimed a cheery, gender-neutral voice. “We are honoured by your presence! Is this the new primarch?”

The brothers turned to see a highly augmented individual rolling towards them. “It is. Sanguinius, this is Jival Enchiridon. He’s the master of the wardrobe.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” said Sanguinius, keeping his hands knotted in the dusty cloth of his robes. Jival was tall and thin, with four arms, each ending in hands with two opposable thumbs. His widely-cut gown was a quilt of fabrics arranged by pantone colour.

Jival rolled around Sanguinius. “Wings! This will be a challenge. A challenge. I just love dressing primarchs. No two are the same. Let’s see, you’re a little smaller than the others we’ve found so far. Come over here, sire, let’s measure you.”

Jival led them to an open-walled vertical cylinder. “Get undressed and stand in there, please?”

“No,” Sanguinius said.

“It will make your measurements that much more accurate.”

“Are you wearing underwear?” Horus asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Horus suppressed a laugh. “Take off as much clothing as you feel comfortable with and stand in there. Get barefoot, though, so they can make your footwear.”

Sanguinius continued to look dubious and removed his outer robes. He had white fabric bands wrapped around his torso and arms as an undershirt. He took off his loose tan trousers and soft leather boots, showing that he was wearing a loincloth not unlike those worn commonly in the Imperium. He also reeked of days of sweat and some kind of antiseptic. He stepped into the cylinder.

“Arms by your side, angled out a little. Perfect. Hold still. This is going to make some lights appear around you, but you won’t feel anything. “

A grid of green lines appeared against Sanguinius, but Jival had been truthful about not feeling anything. Jival studied a dataslate and tapped it. “Can you unfurl your wings, sire? I need to know what size openings to put in your clothes. Thank you. All right, we’re done. Get dressed again and follow me."

They moved on to another room, this one with a number of folding screens, padded benches and rolling racks. One wall was made of drawers. Jival walked along the wall until he found the labels he was looking for, pulling out underwear from one, then socks out of another, then a pair of trousers from a third. He loaded them into a wheeled cart that began to follow him obediently. “That’s all the pre-made garments I can provide you with,” Jival said apologetically. “We’ve started manufacturing the others already. I need to supervise the servitors making closures at the back.”

“Thank you, Jival, we’ll be looking forward to it,” Horus told him.

“You know where his quarters are?”

“Oh, yes.” Jival raised himself on extendable legs, which made Sanguinius jump, and whispered in Horus’s ear. Horus just said, “Yes, that was next.”

Sanguinius had heard Jival’s whisper though: _“Get him a bath.”_

From there, the two primarchs continued to Sanguinius’s new quarters. “Is this all mine?” Sanguinius asked Horus on seeing it.

“All yours.”

Sanguinius took a few hesitant steps into the enormous lounge. “My dwelling on Baal is a big tent in a cave and I thought that was luxurious.” He walked over to admire a sofa. “This is where I sleep, correct?”

Horus walked over to a short hallway and pointed into a doorway on the left. Sanguinius stared.

“That’s my bed?”

Suddenly Horus felt like a terrible host. “We didn’t expect the wings. How do you sleep? We’ll get you something else.”

“No, this is fine!” Sanguinius walked in and pushed on the generic dark-green bedspread. “I sleep on my stomach. Sometimes sitting up with my head on the desk in front of me. This is decadent.” He raised his wings and sat down on the bed. “It’s so soft!” He stroked the bedspread. “Everything is so soft. I don’t deserve this.”

“Sanguinius, you’re from a death world. This is how most people in the Imperium live.”

“Truly?”

Horus nodded. “You have three rooms and a bath. The furniture is basic, just primarch-sized. Except for the size, this is a fairly typical dwelling.”

“I want this for everyone back on Baal and its moons.”

Horus smiled and nodded. “They will have it. They’ll have more than that. Here, let me show you the bathroom.”

Sanguinius had never seen anything like it. He watched Horus turn the sink on and off, flush the toilet and operate the tub and shower. The tub was a deep square one, raised on tiled steps and large enough for a primarch to stretch out prone.

“You fill that with water?”

“Yes. Water is abundant on Terra. It even falls from the sky.”

Saguinius glared at him. “You’re lying.”

“I assure you I am not! There are plenty of things that are rare on Terra, but water is not one of them.” Horus started drawing a bath. “What do you do for cleanliness on Baal, Sanguinius?”

Sanguinius shrugged. “We wash our hands, faces and sensitive parts in water. Everything else we scrub with clean sand. Plus there are some bushes that we burn for smoke, and it makes things smell clean.”

“Is that the smell on your skin?”

“Besides sweat? Yes.”

“Put your hand in this water. You’re going to be soaking in this, so it needs to be comfortable for you.”

Sanguinius did. “Make it a little hotter.”

Horus showed him how. After that, Sanguinius turned his attention to the soap and bottles of shampoo. “What’s this?”

“That’s for washing your hair. The bottle says how.”

“I can’t read it.”

“Can you read and write?”

Sanguinius glared again. “Of course I can read and write! I’ve written books on warfare, and I also write poetry. Just not in this language.”

“Should I just take a bath with you?”

To Horus’s surprise, Sanguinius blushed a deep red. “No…I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve embarrassed you.”

“We don’t show our bodies lightly,” Sanguinius told him. “Married people or lovers do, but no one who’s not a baby shows themselves off casually.”

“I apologize. We don’t run around naked, but members of the same sex often bathe or change clothes around each other.” He gave some instructions on how to use soap and shampoo, pointed out the towels and left Sanguinius in privacy. All Horus could think as he left was, _I hope Fulgrim never hears about this._

Horus settled onto the sofa and turned to his dataslate for some reading. A house serf came in to deliver a rolling rack of clothes. The serf waited silently as Horus listened to Sanguinius splashing around in the bathtub, waiting for his new brother to emerge.

Eventually, he did. Sanguinius had a towel wrapped around his waist, another draped around his neck and a third wrapped around his hair. He jumped slightly when he saw Horus and the serf.

“Do you always lurk so?” Sanguinius asked.

“No, but I'm here to mentor you. That's what I'm doing.” He gestured to the rack of clothes and pulled a set of black fatigues from it. “Wear this to dinner tonight.”

“Here are the undergarments, lord,” the serf murmured. Sanguinius took them, thanked the serf, and returned to the bathroom. A moment later he emerged in the pants, holding the shirts in his hand. “How do I put these on?”

The serf stepped forward, took the undershirt, and held it out for Sanguinius to put his head through the collar and his arms through the sleeves. The back was open. One narrow panel dangled between his wings and the sides, which were cut to fit around his wings, closed and fastened over the central panel. The fatigue jacket went on the same way and buttoned up the back.

Sanguinius went to the mirror and turned around slowly, assessing the fit and the way the clothes accommodated his wings. He seemed pleased, but asked, “Will I always need someone to help me dress?”

“The vestarium is trying different ways of fastening your clothes, lord. Some have buttons or a zipper on the side.”

“What's a zipper?”

“The thing on the front of your pants,” Horus said.

“Oh. I thought that was clever.”

“You will almost always have a servant to help you,” Horus assured him. “That just comes with the territory of being a primarch. Come. Father's waiting for us in the dining room.”

 

The Emperor was waiting for his sons at the end of the massive table, dressed in a long white chiton and imperial purple toga. There were two chairs, one at either side of him, waiting for the two primarchs. All the chairs around the table were high backed, except for the one to the Emperor’s left which had no back at all. It also didn’t match the rest of the furniture.

The Emperor stood as they came in and gave them each a hug and kiss on the cheek before they took their seats. “Sanguinius, I knew you would clean up nicely. The vestarium did an excellent job making you those clothes. How are you finding your accommodations?”

Horus and the Emperor placed napkins on their lap, so Sanguinius did the same. As he examined the silverware he answered, “I’ve never seen better. “

“And your clothing?”

He smiled. “Better than my wildest dreams. They fit, and they’re comfortable, and I don’t get any drafts at the back.”

“Is that why you had your wings covered at the shura?” Horus asked.

Sanguinius looked resigned. Horus was once again reminded that the wings were a sore spot with his brother. At that moment however, servants came in to pour water into glasses and place bowls of soup in front of them.

Sanguinius placed his right hand over where his heart would be if he were human, then touched his water glass and the edge of the soup bowl while whispering a phrase in Secundan. The Emperor took a sip from his own glass and dipped his spoon into his soup so that his sons could start eating.

“We…don’t do that here, Sanguinius.”

Sanguinius looked confused. “Do what?” “

_From the gods, to the soil, to us, from us to the soil, to the gods,”_ the Emperor translated.

Horus snapped his head towards Sanguinius. A prayer? His brother had just uttered a prayer in the presence of the Emperor?

“Invoke gods,” said the Emperor.

Sanguinius looked very confused now. “Why not?”

“Because they aren’t real,” the Emperor said.

Sanguinius shook his head slightly. “I—I don’t understand. How could they not be real?” He scoffed a little. “What would create, sustain, and destroy if there weren’t any gods?”

“The forces of nature,” Horus said, then wondered if he’d spoken out of turn.

“Yes. The gods,” Sanguinius said, looking at him.

“This is going to be an interesting exercise in abstract reasoning,” the Emperor said. He started breaking a roll into into pieces and buttering them. “In any case, Horus was asking you something before we were distracted.”

“Why you had your wings wrapped up when we met you,” Horus said.

Sanguinius was silent, fingers pressed against the edge of the table. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he said softly. Horus could hear a catch in his voice.

“Why not?” asked the Emperor.

“I obviously don’t belong here,” he said. “I didn’t on Baal Secundus either, but at least I’d made myself a place.”

+Father, say something+, Horus thought towards the Emperor.

The Emperor gave Sanguinius the unfocused look that meant he was probing a mind. A moment later, he sighed and reached for his newfound son’s hand. “I’m sorry, Sanguinius,” he told him. “I sadly underestimated how much of a shock this would be, and we have been unkind. We didn’t expect your deformity, and we didn’t stop to think about their effect on you.”

“I’m missing something,” Horus finally said.

Sanguinius wiped at his eyes on his sleeve.

The Emperor continued to hold his hand and explained, “His wings don’t work, Horus.”

Horus stared at Sanguinius in horror.

“They hurt,” Sanguinius admitted. “They are heavy and they itch because the air on Baal Secundus makes the feathers so dry. I keep them cased because they itch less if they’re clean.”

Horus was silent. He hadn’t stopped to think about the possibility that Sanguinius couldn’t fly. He’d been looking forward to asking him about it.

“I hate them,” Sanguinius continued. “The villagers who found me wanted to kill me when they first found me. I was a baby, but I was clearly a mutant. One of them said that it wasn’t that serious a flaw, and that we always needed more hands to help with the herds and the farming. Then I kept getting bigger and bigger, faster than any normal infant, so they taught me to fight, along with the other boys. I kept growing. I could use weapons with both hands while raising a dust storm with my wings. Eventually I became a war leader, then the village elder, even though I’m young, and eventually I led the Conclave. “

“All because you were different,” the Emperor said. “Having wings motivated you. Is that not a gift they’ve given you?”

“I’m twice the size of a normal Secundan,” Sanguinius said. “I would have been different no matter what. Yes, the wings did motivate me, but I would have done the same if I didn’t have them. Just with less misery and isolation.”

Horus thought of the second brother they’d discovered. Leman Russ was also from a feral world, but his experience of growing up on Fenris couldn’t have been more different.

“Eat, sons. Eat,” the Emperor ordered them.

The silence continued until after the main course was cleared and the servants brought in large bowls of fruit and nuts. Sanguinius’s eyes brightened. “Is that all for us?” he asked.

“All for us,” the Emperor said. “Help yourself.”

Sanguinius did. Horus showed him how to peel oranges and bananas and explained which fruits had seeds and which didn’t. Sanguinius held his hands firmly in his lap in between picking up orange segments and individual grapes, doing his best not to shove them in his mouth like a beast.

“I’ve never eaten anything so good,” he confessed, then washed down a mouthful of pear with his fifth or sixth glass of water that night.

“There are plenty of marvels yet to be seen,” the Emperor assured him as he cracked a pecan. Enjoy the ride, my son. “

Sanguinius didn’t want to leave his brother and father, but couldn’t figure out a way to say that without sounding like a petulant child. So, he ended up saying goodnight to the Emperor and following Horus in a route around the hab levels of the warship back to his rooms. There had been work done in his absence. The closet was now full of clothing: red and gold duty robes, black exercise fatigues, and tunics and trousers in various styles and colours. The bed was now covered in piles of body pillows, suitable for building a soft nest for his unconventional body type. On top of the pillows was a white nightshirt with long sleeves. It was backless to the waist, leaving his wings free.

Sanguinius went into the bathroom to clean his teeth, then spent some time arranging pillows. Once he turned the lights off and lay down, he realized that he’d never been so comfortable in his life. The bed was soft and for once his wings were supported, no matter which way he turned. Still, sleep didn’t come. Part of it was a desire to simply enjoy how comfortable he was. It was chillier than he liked it in the room, but he was nestled under the blankets, feeling cozy and secure.

Then the guilt struck. He was so busy being introduced to the wonders of his new world that he hadn’t thought about what was going to happen to the Blood back on Secundus. The Emperor said they would be governed while he was away.

He wondered what was going to happen to his flocks and other animals.

He wondered about the “Legion” he was supposed to command.

Still, Horus seemed like the kind of person who would not fail him in teaching him everything he needed to know. He told himself that the nice soft bed would be just as nice and just as soft when he awakened, so Sanguinius closed his eyes and slept.

 

Sanguinius awakened with a distinctly upset stomach. Horus came along with the servant who brought him breakfast.

“I'm not feeling particularly well,” Sanguinius told Horus as they sat at a small table. Breakfast turned out to be a bowl of cooked grain and some tea. That didn't look too offensive, so he had some.

“Father was worried about that. After you left, he mentioned that you haven't eaten much fruit in your time and you definitely had a lot.”

“It was so good,” Sanguinius sighed. “There aren't very many fruits on Secundus, and the ones we have are covered with spines and not juicy at all. There's one that grows on top of the sankha tree and it's very difficult to harvest. Then you eat one, and realize it's disgusting, but you eat it all anyway because it's what you have.”

“It works out for the best. I'm taking you to the medicae today. If your stomach is still upset, I'm sure they can get you something for it.”

“What's a medicae?”

“It's who you go to when you're sick, or to prevent from getting sick. You must have had something like that on Secundus.”

“Healers, midwives, people who are just good with taking care of wounds.”

"Herbal medicines?” “Yes. The desert produces everything we use.”

“I think this is going to be a little bit different.”

Sanguinius was terrified immediately at the sight of the apothecarium. He'd never seen anything like the bright, gleaming surgery, and Horus could see that his brother's formidable courage was strained to its limits.

“Don't worry. No matter what they do, I'm sure you've had worse.”

Apothecary Sorentus was a big Astartes in white duty robes. Fortunately, he had a good bedside manner, as did the human professional by his side whom he addressed as Dr. Beyers. Horus stayed in Sanguinius's field of vision as they did a thorough scan and exam of his skeleton and musculature. Horus allowed them both to take a blood sample from his own arm so that Sanguinius would know what to expect, which Sanguinius appreciated.

At mid-day, they stopped for lunch, after which Dr. Beyers took over the examination of Sanguinius's wings. He was thorough in investigating the bones and muscles, the way the feathers lay and what kind of feathers were present. Sanguinius said nothing, but Horus could see the humiliation in his eyes.

Finally, Dr. Beyers sat back and said, “I can tell you why they're so itchy. Besides the dryness, which is partly dietary, you've got a bad case of mites. I can give you some powder for that. Just give your feathers a good rinse in the shower or bath every day. Tonight after you bathe, have your servitors give you a dusting of the powder I'll give you. Plus, here is a prescription for some oil-based vitamins that should make you feel a lot better.”

Apothecary Sorentus took over. “You're showing signs of malnutrition in your early years. See this scan of your legs? That bending is lack of calcium from when you were about a year old.”

“I grew so fast that I didn't always have enough food,” Sanguinius explained.

“There's also this old break here in the right femur. That's the worst job of bonesetting I've ever seen in my life.”

“Yes. Well. That's because I did it myself after falling into a rock crevice, chasing after a capridon.”

“Oh,” Sorentus said. There was a moment of awkward silence. “Fortunately, we can repair that with surgery,” Sorentus went on. "We can also put some extra muscles into your back and chest to support those wings. That should eliminate the discomfort.”

“Couldn't you just take them off and be done with it?” Sanguinius asked.

“We'll ask the Emperor,” Beyers said.

It hadn't been a wonderful day. Sanguinius really wanted to be alone, and told Horus that. Horus respected his wishes and gave orders to the servants to just bring Sanguinius his dinner and help with anything he might ask for.

Sanguinius gave the shower a try. It came out of the wall above the massive tub, the size of the tub itself making a curtain or shower door unnecessary. He adjusted the water to a temperature he liked, then stood under the hot spray. Beyers had been right. The water was very soothing to his skin, and he let it soak through his feathers, right to the down. After turning the water off, he gave his wings a good shake, then dried off and put on a nightshirt like the one he'd worn the night before.

Dinner was a simple affair of meat, vegetables and bread, with a single pear as his dessert. The servant who brought his meal also doled out the vitamins he'd been prescribed. After he'd eaten, the servant returned to the bathroom with Sanguinius to dust his wings with the powder that Beyers had recommended.

“It's a strange healer who knows how to take care of someone with my deformity,” Sanguinius observed to the man.

The servant looked at the label of the powder and the vitamins. “He's not a normal medicae or apothecary,” he said.

“What is he then?”

The servant pointed to the label, unaware that Sanguinius couldn't read it yet. “Dr. Beyers is a veterinarian,” he said.

Sanguinius cried himself to sleep and never felt ashamed of that, for as long as he lived.

 

“Sanguinius?” Horus’s voice called from the hallway. It was noon and his brother hadn’t emerged from his room yet. “Sanguinius? Are you in there? Are you all right?”

“GO AWAY!”

Well, that was something. “What’s wrong?”

“I SAID, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“I can’t do that, Sanguinius, I’m your mentor.”

The door slammed open. Sanguinius was dressed in black fatigue pants and a white shirt, obviously trying to be different from Horus. “Why are you my mentor? Why don’t you just have one of Father’s animals do it? I’m sure he owns plenty of flocks to choose from.”

Horus took in Sanguinius’s reddened eyes and unbrushed hair. “May I come in?”

“Feth off!” The door slammed shut.

Horus sighed and raised his vox-cuff to his lips. “Father? Something’s wrong. Sanguinius is very upset and won’t tell me what it is.”

A moment later he continued, “No, he won’t let me into his stateroom.”

There was a “pop” of displaced air and the sound of Sanguinius shouting in surprise. Horus heard something break inside; a lamp or vase or something similar. Then silence.

Horus waited outside for a good half hour before the Emperor opened the door. He was dressed in black fatigues like a normal legionary. Horus could see Sanguinius sitting inside, his face in his hands.

“Is he--?”

“Some food will be arriving momentarily. Bring it in when it does. Your brother is having...difficulty adjusting.”

“What's--?” The door closed again.

Soon after, one of the Custodes came up with a wheeled cart. Horus took it from him and went inside. The Emperor was sitting on the couch with Sanguinius, one hand on his shoulder. Sanguinius had obviously been crying, judging by his reddened eyes and nose and the spots of dampness on the Emperor's jacket.

“Should I stay?” Horus asked.

“Yes.” The Emperor lifted the covers off the plates and offered Sanguinius some nut bread. He'd been without food since the night before, so he was ravenous and gobbled the piece down without any delicacy at all.

The Emperor gestured for Horus to pour the three of them some tea, which Horus did. “He found out quite by accident that Dr. Beyers is not a doctor for humans,” the Emperor explained.

“Oh no,” Horus said. “I didn't know that either.”

“I've explained that it's because humans don't have wings, and that Dr. Beyers is a specialist in avian medicine.”

Sanguinius took a swallow of water. “If you had just told me that, I wouldn't have minded. I would have thought it was a wise idea. I went to bed last night thinking, 'I was tended by an animal doctor. They must see me as an animal.”

“No, we do not see you as an animal,” the Emperor said.

“A mutant, then.”

“Well,” sighed the Emperor, “unfortunately, we cannot deny that.”

“So what's next for me?”

“Next, Horus will start telling you the history of the Age of Darkness and the Great Crusade,” the Emperor said. “That will take until we reach Terra. After that, you're going to need some surgeries to fix the bone damage you've taken over the years.”

“Can they remove my wings?”

The Emperor looked at Sanguinius's back. “If all they do is sit there and cause you discomfort, then we'll have to remove them, yes.”

Sanguinius's face lit up. “Thank you, Father!” He reached out for a pastry and cheerfully bit into it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Culture Shock/Physical Changes/Meet the Family

Chapter 2

The trip to Terra took another few weeks. Horus immediately took Sanguinius to the librarium and opened up books and cogitator documents to illustrate the history Sanguinius needed to know.  
Two days in, Sanguinius stopped Horus one morning and said,” While we're doing this, could you teach me to read Gothic? Then I could just read on my own and we could do something more fun instead.”  
Since Sanguinius already knew how to read and write in his own language, Horus found some childrens' scholam texts and started his brother on them. A few days later, Sanguinius was reading simple books in Gothic and working on his writing. By the time they landed on Holy Terra, he was reading at a “native” level and taking notes on everything Horus taught him.  
By the time they reached Terra, Sanguinius was also prepared for the massive scale of his quarters. A giant red and white marble atrium was at the center of three floors with balconies and windows looking down. There was basic furniture in the rooms, but he was told he could decorate as he wished.  
“There's a suite like this for all the primarchs,” Horus told him.  
“A whole village could live here, and have room for at least some of their livestock,” Sanguinius said.“I still can't believe this is all for me.”  
One wall of the atrium was glass. Sanguinius walked over to it and looked out. “I never thought mountains could be so high.”  
“The Himalayzans are the highest mountains on Terra,” Horus said. “Father likes being on the roof of the world, as he calls it. He says this is the omphalos, the mystical center of the planet.”  
Sanguinius looked at him. “I thought Father didn't believe in mysticism.”  
“Father likes to say that mysticism is just a thorough appreciation of the awesomeness of nature,” Horus said. “He also celebrates seasonal turns with festivals and parties here in the palace.”  
“I have a lot to learn,” said Sanguinius.  
“You will. Here, let me show you around.”  
They walked up the flight of stairs leading up to the first story. Partway up, Sanguinius panted,” Horus, stop. Something’s wrong. I can't breathe.”  
Horus walked down to his side. “I'm a fool and I forgot. Let's take the elevator. This high up, there's not as much oxygen as there is closer to sea level. Nothing's wrong with you, and you'll get used to it.”  
Horus half-carried his brother downstairs and they took the elevator up one floor. “Guest bedrooms,” Horus said. “Each has its own bath.”  
“Why would I need so many?”  
“For any of your staff who you want around 24 hours a day. Or guests. Or a family, if you have one after a while.”  
They took the elevator up again. “Your master suite. It has a dressing room as well as a full bath of your own. Over here is an office and library. Stuff the shelves as you like.”  
Horus introduced Sanguinius to the communications system. Sanguinius was fascinated by the fact that he could just push a button, ask for something to eat, and it would be brought upstairs to him.  
“You can also have a kitchen put in if you want it,” Horus added. “Fulgrim did.”  
“Are any of our brothers here?” Sanguinius asked.  
“Not at the moment, although some of them are inbound from whatever area they're occupying, to meet you.”  
“I'm flattered.”  
“We need to know each other, if we're to present a unified front in Father's Great Crusade.”  
The next few days were quiet as Sanguinius adjusted to the altitude and his new surroundings. Horus stood with him often at sunset, which Sanguinius liked to watch in silence. The solstice was a month behind them and the days were long, the sunsets particularly spectacular. During the days, they walked and talked together, and Sanguinius read as much as he could.  
One morning, Horus took him to an arms room. The gold-armoured Custodes saluted the two primarchs. The Custodes opened a large vault and allowed them in.  
“Don't touch anything until I tell you to,” Horus said firmly to Sanguinius. Sanguinius nodded, feeling claustrophobic. The vault was narrow, with racks on either side holding weapons that he couldn't recognize yet. They were chained to the storage units. The Custodes unlocked one chain and withdrew a single weapon. He inspected it and handed it to Horus, who moved parts around and made metallic snapping noises. “All right, let's go back out.”  
He sat Sanguinius at a table and placed a laminated poster in front of him, white with black diagrams on it. “This is a boltgun, more commonly called a bolter It is the basic weapon of the Adeptus Astartes. Smaller versions exist for humans, but we can't use them and they can't use these. It fires a round, called a bolt, which explodes on impact. It has three settings, “safe”, “semi” and “fuck yeah”.  
Sanguinius peered at the weapon. “It says 'burst'.”  
“Never mind. In 'semi,' it fires one bolt per trigger pull. In 'fuck yeah', or 'burst', it fires four bolts per trigger pull and goes DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA. Best sound in the universe. Now, three rules apply here. Repeat after me. Handle every bolter as if it is loaded. Do not put a finger on the trigger until it is time to fire. Do not point it at anything or anyone that you do not intend to shoot.”  
Sanguinius repeated what Horus had said.  
“All right. Now, let's take this apart. First, push these two pins in order to separate the upper and lower receivers....”  
Horus showed Sanguinius how to field-strip the bolter, laying out each part on the black and white laminated poster. On the third time, Sanguinius stripped it himself, with Horus watching. Horus made him repeat the procedure again and again, faster and faster, finally blindfolding Sanguinius and watching as he dismantled the weapon and re-assembled it. Sanguinius's hands were steady and he didn't hesitate when it came to putting the machine pieces back together.  
“Excellent,” Horus said at the end. “Now I'll show you how to clean it. Take it apart again.”

By the end of the day, Sanguinius's hands were raw and his cuticles were bleeding from being scraped by the edges of the weapon pieces. Still, his voice was full of pride as he placed his hands on each part and identified it.  
“We'll cover basic marksmanship tomorrow afternoon,” said Horus. “In the morning, you have an appointment with the artificers, about your armour.”

Unlike the vestarium, the artificers worked in a large, airy room with lots of natural light. Horus had given Sanguinius plenty of warning about how these tech-priests would have varying amounts of mechanical augmentation, and Sanguinius was becoming more relaxed about the presence of humans who considered flesh undesirable.  
Suits of armour stood around the space, being tended, censed and blessed by the tech-priests. Sanguinius only had a moment to watch this when Horus said, “This way. Master Ojeb has your armour in his workshop.”  
Master Ojeb rolled on three wheels in a triangular pattern that were visible beneath his hooded robe. His metadendrites held half a dozen tools that he used most often. The only part of his face under his robe was his optics, two round lenses that protruded from his metal face like binoculars.  
“A real challenge this was,” he informed them in a metallic wheeze. “Very proud we are, we priests.”  
They were standing in a workroom off the main space. In the center of the room was a suit of power armour. It was gold with red enamel accents and fine etching.  
A servitor handed Sanguinius a black garment. “What's this?”  
“It's called a bodyglove,” Horus said. “You wear it under the armour. It'll maintain your body temperature and cushion you against the armour itself.”  
“The bodyglove was made for my lord,” Ojeb said. “Measurements were used from Master Enchiridon.”  
“Try it on,” said Horus.   
Sanguinius looked around for someplace to change, but there wasn't anyplace. He sighed, turned his back to them and undid his clothing. The bodyglove slipped on easily enough and did feel quite comfortable. Horus helped him close up the slits through which his wings had fit.  
“This part you'll never be doing by yourself,” Horus said to his brother. Master Ojeb touched a remote and the gold armour parted, the individual plates hanging in space. On Horus's urging, Sanguinius stepped into the ceramite boots. Horus and Ojeb guided the other pieces onto his body. Every piece was contoured to fit him precisely, from the boots to the pieces of his backplate to the gauntlets on his hands. Sanguinius flexed his fingers, surprised at how much fine dexterity he had despite the metal gloves.  
“This is impressive,” he murmured. He took a step forward. “I'm going to need to work harder on my strength, though.”  
“No, actually,” Horus told him. He took Sanguinius's right hand and touched it to a stud on the inside of his right pauldron. Sanguinius jumped slightly as the armour tightened around his body, and he felt something moving around his longer muscles. He swung one of his arms in response and exclaimed, “It's not heavy anymore.”  
“That's why it's called power armour,” Master Ojeb said. “It's powered to move itself and fight with you. Even an Astartes has trouble moving his armour with only the strength of his own body.”  
“There's a mirror over here,” Horus said.   
Sanguinius walked over to it and gazed at his reflection. There he stood, armoured in gold and red, black hair falling over his shoulders, snowy white wings framing his image.  
Horus saw that he was dumbstruck and said, “When I first saw myself like that, I didn't know what to say either.”  
“This is right,” Sanguinius said. “This is who I was born to be.”  
“Yes,” said Horus. “That's the only thing I can say. Yes.”

The day before his surgery arrived. Sanguinius was as nervous as he'd ever been, and it wasn't helped by the fact that he was prohibited from eating or drinking twelve hours before they started to prepare him. Horus came and sat with him in his living room. He brought a deck of cards and taught Sanguinius some simple games. After midnight, Horus sent Sanguinius to bed, although Sanguinius couldn't get to sleep and only napped an hour or so before dawn.   
Horus got him up and accompanied him on the hour ride through the palace complex to the Imperial Apothecarium. “Don't worry,” Horus said. “These are the medicae who attend to the Emperor himself. They will take the best of care of you.”  
“They're going to cut me open and do things to my bones,” Sanguinius said.  
“This isn't Baal Secundus,” Horus insisted. “These medicae could take out your heart, insert a new one, and be done before lunch. You wouldn't feel a thing all through it. The knot here in your femur has been hurting you more, and you won't have to suffer with it ever again.”  
The Emperor met them at the Apothecarium, As Horus helped his brother change into a surgical gown He spoke reassuringly to Sanguinius. “I wanted to let you know that I'll be there during the surgery,” the Emperor said. “My sons are precious to me, and I do not leave them to medicae without my knowledge and involvement.”  
Sanguinius said nothing, but the Emperor didn't need him too. He took His son's hand in his own. “Don't be afraid. You will feel nothing, and you will be transformed by the procedure.”  
An apothecary asssitant came in and brought an intravenous apparatus. The Emperor asked for an antiseptic swab and the needle. As Horus took up a position behind his brother, He wiped down Sanguinius's inner arm and inserted it into a vein. “This is an anaesthetic. You're just going to sleep now, and when you wake, it will be over.”  
Sanguinius slipped into unconsciousness in Horus's arms, which was comforting. The last thing he was aware of was his head on Horus's shoulder and Horus stroking his hair.  
After that there was a vertiginous blur. Sanguinius later thought he'd seen some lights, someone in a white mask holding a bloody bone and a number of young men looking down at him as one of them said, “He's cute.” Another said, “Hush, he can hear us,” and then he lapsed into unconsciousness again.  
When he awoke, the light told him it was morning. Sanguinius was in his own bed . He was lying on his back, dressed in one of his usual nightshirts, and he was sore in every part of his body. He raised one of his arms and looked at it. There was a very thin pink line running down the outside of his forearm, as if he'd scratched it badly. The arm seemed unnaturally thin. His other arm was the same. He reached down to touch his abdomen and felt ribs. He was hungry, he smelled sour in a way he never had when he lived in the desert, and his chest seemed swollen.   
Horus was reading an enormous book by his side. He glanced away from it and said, “You're awake right on time. How do you feel?”  
“I don't know. How long was I out?”  
Horus looked guilty. “Three weeks.”  
“Three weeks? You said that these doctors could change a heart in a few hours.”  
“They can, but they did a lot of work on you and they kept you in an artificial coma all that time.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you would have been in a lot of pain otherwise,” Horus said.   
“I hurt.”  
“That'll pass. We can give you some painkillers.”  
“So hungry.”  
“We'll get you some food.” Horus turned to the vox unit and said something about it. While that was going on, Sanguinius had an itch in his right wing and stretched it so he could scratch.  
Wings.  
“HORUS!”  
Sanguinius was sitting up in bed, ignoring the soreness of his body and the weakness of his muscles. His wings were fully extended, and he looked furious.  
Horus rushed over and put his hands on his brother's shoulders. “Calm down, you're going to hurt yourself.”  
Thwack! Sanguinius's right wing snapped forward and caught Horus right in the lower ribcage. Horus grunted in pain as he felt several of them break.   
Horus fell to the floor, and Sanguinius threw aside the bedcovers. Sanguinius reached down to grab Horus's shirt, probably to punch him in the face, but his legs collapsed under him.  
Suddenly there was a popping sound and both their fields of vision were filled with gold. Horus saw Sanguinius rise up off the floor, lifted by the Emperor.  
The Emperor was clad in full armour, and he lowered Sanguinius back onto the mattress. “Behave!” he commanded.  
“Why? I'm surrounded by liars!”  
The Emperor slapped him.  
Sanguinius's whole skull rang with the blow. There was blood in his mouth and it was all he could do to roll onto his stomach, the way he usually lay down. The Emperor had removed a gauntlet and lay Horus on the other side of the bed. He had placed a hand gently on Horus's side. “Be healed, son.”  
Horus lay still, sighing softly as the golden light around the Emperor's hands repaired his injuries. As soon as the Emperor stood, Horus rolled across the bed and draped himself protectively over Sanguinius.  
“Don't hurt him, Father! He's in pain and sick and doesn't understand yet.”  
The Emperor raised a hand to his forehead and laughed ironically. “He breaks your ribs and insults us and you protect him. All right, Horus. You win.”  
A servitor appeared with a covered dish on a tray. It placed the tray on a nightstand and retreated. Horus sat up and helped Sanguinius roll over to a sitting position, his wings splayed to either sound. The Emperor placed his hand over Sanguinius's bruised and bleeding face, healing the injuries.  
The covered dish contained custard of some kind. Horus spooned it carefully into Sanguinius's mouth until his brother was strong enough to take the spoon himself.   
“Is there more?” he finally asked.  
“That's all you can have for now,” the Emperor said. “It's not to punish you, but to not overwhelm your digestive system. You can have more later.”  
“Let's get you cleaned up,” Horus said.  
Horus filled the tub and half-carried his brother to it. Sanguinius was quiet and let Horus bathe him and wash his hair. Clean and dressed again, he lay in bed and fell asleep again quickly.  
The Emperor was waiting downstairs, playing regicide with one of his Companions. Horus approached him and said, “He's asleep.”  
The Emperor studied the board and moved a piece. “Ungrateful little magpie.”  
“Father, not everyone can be perfect as you. I understand the parts of your plan that you've chosen to reveal to me. But we have to remember, Sanguinius doesn't even know what money is. He still thinks that the clouds are the breath of some great dragon in the sky. He hates his wings, because all they've done all his life are shown that he's a mutant. They're uncomfortable and useless. Of course he's angry!”  
The Emperor looked unconvinced. “If he cannot fly now, I will have his wings removed.”  
“I think you need to tell him that.”  
The Emperor looked up to where Sanguinius's room was. “We will see if the surgery was successful, first.”  
When Sanguinius awakened, the light was pink and weak outside. The chronometer beside his bed read 0425. He rubbed his eyes and stood to go to the bathroom. His legs felt wobbly and his torso felt heavier, but that could be because he was so wretchedly hungry.  
Horus appeared out of the darkness and took his elbow. “I've got you, brother.”  
“Do you ever leave?”  
“Not with you in this state. How do you feel?”  
“Give me a moment.” Sanguinius shut Horus out of the bathroom and emerged a moment later. “I'm hungry and lightheaded, but I don't feel any pain.”  
“That's good. I've already sent for food. Dr. Beyers will be here after you eat breakfast.”  
Breakfast was more of the same custard as before, with sliced pineapple on the side. “Four of our brothers are here,” Horus told him. “They were able to come to Terra to meet you.”  
“How did that work?” Sanguinius asked. How many of us are there? Who was our mother? Or did Father have several wives?”  
“It didn't quite work that way,” Horus said. “I'm going to let him explain. It's possible to have children without a human womb, you know.”  
Sanguinius frowned a bit and then said, “That could be useful. Unnatural perhaps, but useful.”  
Dr. Beyers arrived with Apothcary Sorentus. Dr. Beyers looked excited to be called in, even this early in the morning. He stood back and let Sorentus examine Sanguinius first, studying his now nearly invisible scars and confirming his vital signs. “Your progress is optimal for a being like you who has been in a coma for three weeks.”  
Dr. Beyers came forward next and was polite about pulling down the front of Sanguinius's nightshirt, asking permission instead of just coming forward and doing it. Sanguinius looked down at his chest which had gone from being the normal torso of a muscular young man to a distinct barrel shape. “What did you do to me?” he asked, more curious than anything else.  
“The Emperor wanted to give you the ability to fly. The reason you couldn't fly before was because your entire skeleton weighed as much as that of any other primarch. We changed that. Your skeleton now weighs a quarter what it did before.” He indicated Sanguinius's increased chest. “We fused your collarbone, made your sternum more prominent, and added a second set of deltoid muscles, here. That second set of muscles connects to your wings. They used to be only by controlled by your human deltoids, here. That's why they always moved with your arms. They'll be more independent now.”

“He's already hit me with them once,” Horus said.

Dr. Beyers' face lit up. “You did? That's excellent!”

“Broke my ribs,” Horus added.

“Even better. That means the muscles are interacting with your nervous system perfectly. Wait. Did you mean to hit Lord Horus with your wing?”

“I did indeed, Doctor,” Sanguinius said, smiling a little.

“Well, then. Congratulations. Can you extend them for me?”

Sanguinius did. At Dr. Beyers' request he raised them upright, then furled one, then the other.

“Very good. I'm going to send up a list of physical therapy exercises. Do them every day to strengthen your wings. The goal is to get you flying, and right now, everything is on track for that to happen.”

After the Apothecary and veterinarian had left, Horus asked, “You do want to fly, don't you?”  
Sanguinius crossed his arms as he stood by the windows of his bedroom. “Truly? I never thought much about it because I didn't think it was possible.”  
“It's possible now. We don't know if it'll work, but from what the doctor said, the indications are that it will.”  
Sanguinius looked at him. “When can I meet our brothers?”  
“Once you're eating and drinking normally. We all do like our dinner parties, and when we Primarchs get together, there's a lot of food and wine.”  
“How are they going to react to my having wings?”  
“The only thing that might take them aback is how beautiful they are.”  
“I mean, how are they going to react to me being a mutant?”  
“Trust me, that is not something you have to worry about,” Horus assured him.

Three days later, Sanguinius was recovered, eating normally, and ready. Horus told him to dress in duty robes and wait.

These robes had been in Sanguinius's wardrobe since his first night on the Emperor's ship, but he'd never had the opportunity to wear them. There were trousers and shirts to wear under them, and he decided on just an undershirt with a pair of loose trousers that tied with a drawstring. The robe itself was a wide, hooded garment with long sleeves. The slits for his wings were almost to the hem of the garment, making getting them through it very easy. The loose fabric was gathered and buttoned at the back and a wide leather belt buckled over it. A tabard, cut around the joint of his wings at the back, went on top.

Sanguinius's robes were gold with the tabard in red. He had to admit that the scheme suited his natural colouration quite well, and for the first time in his life he felt just a little bit of vanity about his looks. 

He didn't like being away from Horus. The apartments they had assigned to him were too vast, the windows massive sheets of glass looking out at the now-snowy mountains. It was so cold here, too. The vestarium had immediately changed the fabrics of Sanguinius's robes once they heard how uncomfortable he was, switching from soft, light fabric to sturdier wool. 

Sanguinius knew that if he wanted something hot to drink, all he had to do was say it out loud to the eerie skulls that floated in the room and soon a servitor would enter with his drink on a tray. He was thinking about requesting some tea when Horus entered the room.

“I've finished my meeting. Everyone is very eager to meet you.”

Sanguinius nodded and followed Horus out. The palace was still a confusing maze to him, and they were going into a section he didn't know yet. Eventually, they exited an elevator and stood as guards pulled open towering bronze doors.

Inside, the room was built as a half ampitheatre. The steps were carpeted and cushioned, with a burbling waterfall bubbling down the middle into a pool at the bottom. Two men were sitting by the waterfall, drinking out of goblets. Two others were seated on a couch a short distance away. Sanguinius looked at them curiously. Two blonds, one brunet like him and one....?

Horus faced them. “Brothers, this is our new arrival. He comes from the second moon of the planet Baal, which is a desert planet full of radiation. When Father and I found him, he'd been uniting his tribes against mutants. Sanguinius, these are our brothers.”

The men murmured their greetings, then lined up in order of height to greet him. Sanguinius had the feeling that this was a practiced ritual.

The first man was of an indeterminate age, and he was the tallest person Sanguinius had ever seen. He towered over him by at least a meter. His skin was a rich copper. Scarlet hair fell over one side of his face, and Sanguinius could tell that at some point he'd lost an eye. The space where it had been was now smooth scar tissue. He wore rust-coloured robes decorated with unfamiliar glyphs. 

“I'm pleased to meet you, Sanguinius. My name is Magnus. I'm Primarch of the 15th. I'm called the Crimson King.” He bent down to give Sanguinius the kiss on the cheek that he'd concluded was also part of the ritual.

The next man was slightly shorter, or perhaps less tall was a better way to describe him. His eyes were bright, clear blue and his hair neat, short and blond. His robes were the deep azure of lapis lazuli. “My name is Roboute Gulliman,” he introduced himself. “I'm Primarch of the 13th. I don't have a nickname besides 'Rob' sometimes.” He kissed Sanguinius on the other cheek.

The third man was about the size of Gulliman, with short dark hair and brown eyes. He looked young but weatherbeaten. His robes were black and his hands were gloved in silver. “My name is Ferrus Manus. I'm Primarch of the Iron 10th. I''m called the Gorgon.” He kissed Sanguinius on the forehead and yielded his place to the last primarch in line.

This one was slender with long, straight white hair and violet eyes. His robes were likewise violet and silver. “My name is Fulgrim. I'm Primarch of the 3rd. I'm called the Phoenician.” Of a similar height to Sanguinius, he stepped forward and kissed him on the lips, for a moment longer than necessary, Sanguinius thought. Ferrus Manus cleared his throat loudly.

“Three of us couldn't be here,” Horus said. “Leman Russ is back on his homeworld of Fenris, which is a pity because he's a character. Vulkan is with his legions. He's big, creative and very kind.”

“And then there's Rogal,” Magnus grunted.

“Unfortunately,” Ferrus added.

“We shouldn't prejudice you against him, but none of us like him much,” Horus admitted. He went to the table and poured six goblets of wine. Once they had each taken one, he raised his cup. “A toast. To brothers known and yet to be found.”

They clinked their goblets together and drank. Someone called for food and they settled down around the table to talk.

Sanguinius wasn't surprised that Fulgrim was the one to ask about his wings first.

“So brother, can you fly?” 

Sanguinius had already taken the measure of this one. Beautiful. Spoiled. Decadent. He would be shocked to know that the question had hit a nerve, and Sanguinius restrained himself from letting on. He would treat Fulgrim as he would a small Baalite child who had asked the same question. “I don't know yet. I just had surgery, at Father's insistence, to make flight possible, but I'm still healing.”

“When you try, I want to see.”

Sanguinius laughed a little. “Why?”

“Because you're going to be incredible,” Fulgrim said.

Sanguinius smiled around his wineglass. “We'll see.”

“What kind of stragegies did you use against the mutants?” Gulliman asked.

“What's the philosophy of education on Baal Secundus?” asked Magnus.

“Are there mines?” asked Ferrus Manus.

“Were I you, I'd never wear clothes,” Fulgrim said, having drunk a bit more wine than the rest.  
“Fulgrim!” Ferrus exclaimed at him. “You have no manners!” He looked at Sanguinius. “You have to forgive my dear peacock. What he's admitting is that he thinks you're a piece of art, like that ridiculous stuff he has in his quarters.”

“It's not ridiculous, you just have no taste. Sanguinius, you'll have to see it for yourself.”

“I suppose I will,” Sanguinius said, laughing. Between the wine and the company, he was feeling hopeful for the future.

The six primarchs were together late into the night. Magnus the intellectual, Sanguinius thought. Gulliman the strategist. Ferrus and Fulgrim, who were such a mismatched pair, yet were always holding hands, touching their foreheads together, and smiling at each other.

As Horus walked Sanguinius back to his room, Sanguinius said, “This may be a rude question, but are Ferrus and Fulgrim unusually close?”

Horus laughed. “You noticed that, did you? Yes, they're a couple. They've been together for a few decades now, almost since they first met.”

Sanguinius frowned, but it was a frown of puzzlement more than anything else. “Does Father know? Are men loving other men accepted in this culture?

Horus stopped to think, not sure where to tread. “Father knows. Men loving men and women loving women is viewed neutrally here. I guess they aren't on Baal?”

“No, not at all. The penalty used to be death. I revoked that law as soon as I became leader of the Conclave.”

“Glad to hear it. It's a perfectly natural variation, and people can't help who they fall in love with.”

Much later, as he did the physical therapy exercises he'd been given, Sanguinius had a chance to reflect on his newly found family.  He hadn’t seen the Emperor since the day after his surgery.  He was the greatest man Sanguinius had ever met, and he could understand why the Emperor might not have much time to spend with his sons.  Still, he could palpably feel the man’s presence, and that presence was a comforting warmth in his chest.  It was a consolation for his lack of being physically there.  
   
He felt quite warmly for Magnus.  His huge, one-eyed brother fairly crackled with power but also radiated strong control over it.  He spoke fairly little and Sanguinius wanted to get to know him better, sensing enormous depth in the man.  He suspected that depth wasn’t adequately appreciated by the other brothers.  
 Roboute was a much easier read.  He was big and strong and every inch a warrior-king.  He hadn’t fought his way to the position as Sanguinius had, but had been raised as royalty from the time his adoptive father discovered him.  He seemed to consider Sanguinius a bit simple and fragile; Sanguinius was reminded of the way tribesmen had treated a particular girl who was very pretty but mentally deficient.  They’d courted her with exaggerated gentleness, speaking to her in ways she would understand.  He’d noticed Roboute simplifying his way of speaking when he talked to him, and that Roboute had been surprised at Sanguinius’s knowledge of warfare.  Roboute didn’t mean to be condescending, and Sanguinius didn’t feel it necessary to point it out to him.  
   
Sanguinius found Ferrus’s and Fulgrim’s love for each other both touching and reassuring.  He knew that technically it was incest, but it wasn’t as if they’d emerged from the same womb and then grown up together.  They didn’t even look like brothers.  Their might and power were still evident even while a tipsy Ferrus had an even drunker Fulgrim perched on his knees.  They were obviously happy together, and that made Sanguinius smile.  
 But what made him smile the most was Horus.  Sanguinius liked him a lot.  He never became frustrated with Sanguinius’s endless questions, went along calmly with moments of profound culture shock, and best of all, seemed genuinely interested in stories of life on Baal Secundus.  In turn, Sanguinius enjoyed Horus’s tutelage in, well, everything.  There was so much to learn, and Horus taught it with humour and genuine love of what he knew and imparted.  
 Ferrus and Fulgrim gave Sanguinius hope for himself and Horus.  Such love had been absolutely forbidden on Baal Secundus, but that was now irrelevant. Sanguinius no longer lived there and would be ruler of the entire system when and if he did.  
That too was one of Sanguinius's secrets, and why he'd thought artificial wombs were such a fine idea. He'd argued for womens' education and participation in Conclave meetings since he'd first taken power on Baal, but he'd never had the desire to marry one.

Sanguinius wondered if he and Horus could have what Ferrus and Fulgrim did.

The idea made him smile for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the formatting weirdness. Sometimes I'm using Word, sometimes Open Office. I hope the story itself makes up for it!


	3. Chapter 3

Sanguinius sat on the examination table as Dr. Beyers checked the lay of his feathers. “Looks like the mites are gone. Skin looks healthy. How are the wings feeling?”  
Sanguinius shrugged, the action duplicated in both his human shoulders and his wings. “I’ve started to forget they’re there, until I accidentally hit a doorframe with them. They feel good.”

“They’ll feel even better if you preened.”

“Preened? What does that mean?”

“It means going through your feathers, making sure they’re all lying right, give them a light coating of moisturizer, removing things like this.” Sanguinius yelped as Beyers pulled something off his left wing and showed it to him. “These sheaths from new feathers don’t come off on their own unless they’re preened off.”

Sanguinius raised his right wing and brought the leading edge over to see how far he could touch it with his fingers.” “I don’t think that’s going to work.”  
“Well, that’s why you have legion serfs.”

“Let someone else touch them!?” Sanguinius pulled them in tight around himself.

“They’re the appropriate people for that kind of job. You’re not going to ask your Captains or your equerry to do it. That’d be like having them put on your armour. Designate two serfs and send them to me. I’ll give them full instructions on what to do.”

Sanguinius grunted. Beyers moved to stand in front of him. “The secondary deltoids are developing nicely. You’re doing the physical therapy, I take it?”

“Every day. “

“How much lift are you getting when you give them a good flap?”

“At least a meter.”

“Not bad, not bad, especially at this high altitude. How’s the cardio?”

“As I told the Apothecary, I can’t run like Horus and my father do, so I’ve been using a stair-climbing machine. I’ve gone from 20 minutes to an hour on it, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

Beyers nodded. “Well, if the Apothecary agrees with me, I’d say you’re ready to fly.”

The other primarchs were in the practice yard when Sanguinius emerged with Horus. The practice yard was a good 110 meters long by 50 meters wide, surrounded on all sides by walls cut out of the living stone of the mountain. Fulgrim, Ferrus and Gulliman were there, wearing black fatigues like Horus and Sanguinius. They were standing near a wall covered in weapons racks, discussing them. Horus joined in the conversation as Sanguinius pored over the racks. He didn’t know what most of them were, and the ones he did recognize were strange mechanized versions of weapons he knew. After a few minutes he discovered a set of spears that didn’t look too unusual and drew one from the rack. It was beautifully balanced and his hands itched to throw it.

Gulliman came over. “You look like you know how to use that.”  
Sanguinius smiled. “I’ve thrown a few in my time.”  
Gulliman pointed downrange. “Target is over there.”  
It was a statue in the form of some kind of daemon, carved out of a lurid yellow plastic. Sanguinius tossed the spear in his hand first, took a stance, and sent it flying forward. It hit the demon in its upper chest and bounced off.  
“A good cast. If you'd turned the power on for the spear, you'd have made a kill.” Gulliman picked up another spear, touched a button near the head, then threw it. It traveled between the daemon's arm and side, lodging in the wall behind it.  
“At least I hit it and pissed it off,” Sanguinius told him. He reached for another spear. He stopped to note where the power button was, pressed it, and balanced the spear in his hand. He wasn't sure what the power actually did, so he cleared his mind and threw it forward as he would any other spear. It glided surely into the upper chest of the daemon and stayed there.  
Gulliman looked at it, said, “Well done, brother!” and walked away.  
Sanguinius went back to the racks and picked up a recurved bow. He put his leg over it to string it when Magnus said, “No need to put out that much effort. Here.”  
Magnus picked up a long cord with two leather cups at the end. He showed Sanguinius how to put the cups at the ends of the bow and stand on the cord in order to make bending it easier.  
“That's brilliant,” Sanguinius said. “It takes some of the bragging rights away, though. Back on Baal Secundus, one of the reasons I was able to become chief over all the tribes was that no one else could bend my bow.”  
“Like Odysseus,” Magnus chuckled.  
“Who?”  
Magnus patted him on the shoulder. “A hero from old Terra. I'll give you the book. You’ll find it entertaining, a sea voyage full of adventure.”  
“I'd like that. Where's the power button on this?”  
It was just above the grip. Sanguinius was right-handed, so he made sure the bow was set that way and picked up a quiver. He hung it around his shoulder so that it lay against his right thigh and nocked an arrow. The bow immediately emitted a red laser dot that tracked along the far wall. Sanguinius pulled the string to his ear and released. The arrow flew inerrantly into the center of the target.  
“That's easy,” he said.  
“Have you mastered the bolter yet?” Gulliman asked.  
“That was what Horus was teaching me on the eve of my surgery,” Sanguinius said.  
“Did you get to fire one?” Gulliman asked.  
“Not yet.”  
“They’re redoing his chest and shoulder armour,” Horus said. “Since bolters are usually fired from the hip in armour, I thought we should wait.”  
“Nonsense. One should know how to fire a bolter in armour and out,” Gulliman said. He picked one up and handed it to Sanguinius.  
Sanguinius turned the weapon towards a wall and cleared it, locking the bolt open. “I know I have to put in a magazine next.” He reached out his hand and Horus gave him one. “Eyes and ears,” Magnus said, producing a pair of goggles and hearing protectors. With Horus and Gulliman both supervising, he slapped it in and marched towards a target.  
Gulliman stood behind Sanguinus. “The bolter is really what we call a ‘spray and pray’ weapon. You point it at something and pull the trigger.”  
“I can’t aim?”  
“If you use it as a pistol you can.”  
“I don’t know what that is.”  
“Right. Drop the magazine.”  
Sanguinius did as Gulliman walked away calling out, “HORUS! May I speak to you?”  
Sanguinius watched him leave. Without needing to be told anything, Magnus said, “The feeling you are experiencing right now, of everything you have done well so far being negated by one action that has gone wrong? Ignore it.”  
Sanguinius looked up at Magnus. “How did you know I was feeling that?”  
“I know human beings,” Magnus said. “For all our superiority, that’s all we really are.” He turned his single eye towards Sanguinius. “Roboute is a good man. He really is. He’s also a show-off because he was raised as a prince on his own world and now he’s a king as well as a primarch.”  
Sanguinius looked up at his enormous brother. “We don’t have kings, we have elders and the Conclave. I was its leader. Maybe I am from the low-rent moon of the Baal system, but nobody handed me my power. I fought for it.”  
“I know, and between you and me, that shows you to be the stronger one,” Magnus told him.  
It grew dark, and Sanguinius declined all invitations to have dinner (and copious amounts of wine) with any of his brothers. He was going to try flying the next day, so he went through his usual routine of dinner, bath, wing care, and bed.

 

Sanguinius was quiet in the Thunderhawk as it took them to lower ground. Horus was holding his hand; the enclosed vehicle was making Sanguinius nervous. He also wasn’t too pleased to know he was a kilometer or more off the ground.  
Fulgrim and Ferrus were facing them from across the aisle. Horus and Sanguinius were sitting in two thrones that had been placed in the middle of the vehicle since Sanguinius couldn’t sit with his back against the wall. All the primarchs except for Sanguinius were in their everyday armour; black for Ferrus, purple and silver for Fulgrim and a soft pearly white for Horus. Sanguinius was in exercise fatigues and boots. Dr. Beyers was in front with the pilots.  
The four primarchs were quiet most of the way. Eventually Fulgrim became bored and asked, “Is it true that when Father and Horus found you, you’d never had a bath?”  
Ferrus slapped one silver hand against his face and shook his head. “I apologize, Sanguinius, my brother here is hopeless.”  
Sanguinius didn’t admit he was glad of the distraction. “I had never had a bath in a tub or taken a shower, Fulgrim, no. Towel baths, yes, and rubbing with clean sand, yes.”  
“I wish I could have experienced that,” Fulgrim said. “I’ve never met anyone who had never bathed.”  
“I’m going to remember this conversation next time you complain because I’ve come to bed without showering,” Ferrus said to Fulgrim.  
“We didn’t have enough water to drink, much less cleanse flesh,” Sanguinius explained.  
“And that’s the difference,” Fulgrim said. “When Ferrus comes to bed all sweaty, it’s just because he’s been too lazy to get in the shower.”  
“We really don’t need to hear this,” Horus said.  
Fulgrim opened his mouth to add something, and Ferrus clapped a hand over it.  
At that moment, the Thunderhawk started to descend rapidly. Sanguinius turned a little green and grabbed at Horus’s armoured elbow. “Don’t worry, we’ve done this thousands of times,” Horus assured him.  
The Thunderhawk leveled, then seemed to stop in midair and drop down backwards. Fulgrim threw his hands over his head with a grin and an excited, “WHEEEEEE!” When they leveled again, Sanguinius’s head was under Horus’s arm and he was praying in Secundan.  
“I’m going to tell the pilot to not do that,” Horus said. “There’s no reason to do combat drops when we’re not in combat.”  
“I’d appreciate that,” Sanguinius murmured. Horus raised a vox cuff and ordered the pilot to land normally.  
It put down beside a grassy valley which had several cliffs of varying heights. The four brothers, accompanied by Beyers, stepped out to one where the ledge was about ten meters high. Sanguinius looked down and saw that several red-armoured men were laying out puffy blue mats at the bottom. His heart sank. This was going to happen.  
Horus came up to him. “I know you’re nervous. We won’t let you hurt yourself.”  
Sanguinius said nothing.  
Horus went on, “You cannot lose. If you can’t fly, Father has promised to remove your wings. If you can fly, well, that’s been the human dream since we first walked out of the caves before Father was even born.”  
Sanguinius looked at him and gestured for him to lean close. Horus did and Sanguinius whispered, “I’m afraid of heights.”  
Horus pulled back and returned his gaze, not knowing what to say.  
Sanguinius went on, “The time I fell into the crevice, after the capridon and broke my leg. It was about this deep. I was in there overnight before they came looking for me. I’ve never been able to look over any kind of height since.”  
“Because you associate falling and heights with pain.”  
“Yes. A lot of it. By the time they hauled me out, the bone had healed wrong, as the Apothecary pointed out.  
“We need Magnus,” Horus sighed. “He’s good with this sort of thing. I am not.”  
Beyers came to their sides. “We’re ready, lords.”  
Sanguinius nodded, resigned. “How do I start?”  
“We’re at the foot of the mountains,” Beyer said. “The air is going to give you a lot more resistance and it’ll make it easier to fly. I recommend starting by just flapping your wings.”  
At Beyers’s direction, Sanguinius walked away from the bluff. Uncomfortably aware of everyone’s eyes on him, he took a deep breath, spread his wings, and let them sweep forward.  
Immediately he was on his rear, meters from where he’d started. Horus ran over to be by his side. “Are you all right?”  
Sanuinius looked up at him. “You can move fast in that!”  
“Power armour, remember?”  
“Try flapping downward,” Beyers said. “You aren’t a bird, so it makes sense that your wings will move more like arms than avian wings.”  
He stood again and slapped at the grass and dirt adhering to his fatigues. Everyone stood back and he started beating his wings up and down.  
This time, the first downward beat took Sanguinius’s boots off the ground. The second lifted him up over everyone’s head. Then he looked down and fell like a rock into Horus’s and Ferrus’s arms.  
“Thank you for catching me,” he said.  
“Don’t mention it,” said Ferrus.  
“That was an excellent start,” Beyers said. “It usually takes baby birds weeks to get to that point. I think we should try the bluff.”  
“I think I should stay here a little while longer,” Sanguinius told him. “Bring those mats over.”  
Horus knew that anxiety was partially the motivation, but he reasoned that whatever it took to get his brother into the air was what needed to be done. He gave an order and the red-armoured legionaries came up, carrying mats. They stopped and stared at Sanguinius for a moment, their helmeted faces unreadable. Fulgrim ordered them to put down the mats and get lost, but not before Sanguinius had noticed the crest of a red winged teardrop on their right pauldrons.  
Those are mine, he thought, not knowing how he knew that.  
“Let’s try this again,” said Beyers.  
Sanguinius took his place by the mats and sent himself up into the air a second time. He kept the mats in sight and tried to hover over them, but to no avail. He kept rising and changed the angle so that he could move forward, which he did. The legionaries grabbed the handles on the mats and ran to keep them beneath him. Not a moment too soon either, as muscle fatigue set in and Sanguinius crashed to the ground.  
“You did it!” Fulgrim exulted, running to his brother’s side. “You flew!” He threw his arms around Sanguininus’s neck.  
“I hope it was all you were dreaming of,” Sanguinius murmured into Fulgrim’s hair. It was the softest thing he’d ever felt, and smelled pleasantly sweet.  
Ferrus came over to push Fulgrim aside and help Sanguinius to his feet. “Bravo!”  
Horus was last, with Dr. Beyers. “What made you stop?”  
“My wing muscles tired out.”  
“That’s fine,” Beyers said, kneeling beside him. “How do you feel?”  
“I’m all right. Hungry, though.”  
“You just burned through about 3,000 calories in those 12 seconds of flight,” Beyers said. He offered him a foil-wrapped bar. “Eat this. The Apothecary and I designed them for you.”  
Sanguinius unwrapped it. It was a pressed bar of dried fruits and nuts, held together in a substance with a cakelike texture. He bit into it and it wasn’t half bad. Within a minute, he’d devoured the whole thing.  
“Let yourself rest. Try again when you feel ready.”  
That took a while. Sanguinius ate another food bar and stood. “Ready.”  
“Try jumping into the air. A lot of birds launch themselves up that way.”  
“All right.” Sanguinius took a deep breath, bent his knees, and jumped, raising his wings as he did so. He pushed downwards against the air and was rewarded by flying forward. Four more downbeats and he was done, but this time he held his wings out and softened the impact with which he hit the ground.  
As he caught his breath, he was amused to see Horus shove Fulgrim out of the way as the three primarchs ran to his side. This time it was Horus who threw his arms around Sanguinius first, and Sanguinius was more than happy to return the embrace.  
That night, Sanguinius decided he should host the dinner. He asked his serfs and within half an hour, a chef was sitting down with him, suggesting a menu.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sanguinius told the man, feeling no embarrassment whatsoever. “My own tastes are simple, but Lord Fulgrim is one of the guests.”  
“I can work with that,” the chef said.  
Dinner ended up being based around a spicy meat stew, aromatic rice, vegetables cooked in clarified butter and assorted small bites. Dessert was fruit strudel and the wine flowed freely. The brothers lounged around on the low sofas that had been brought into Sanguinius’s main room. Fulgrim seemed unusually subdued as he leaned back against Ferrus’s chest.  
“Fulgrim, something is clearly on your mind,” Sanguinius commented.  
“I am prostrate with grief, brother,” Fulgrim answered. “I have received the heartbreaking news that my one great love is departing tomorrow.”  
Ferrus grunted. “What my long-winded life-partner is trying to say is that he’s all cross because I have to leave tomorrow.”  
“All cross? Is that how you dismiss my sorrow, as being _all cross?_ ”  
“Sanguinius and I will still be here. Magnus, Rob? What are your plans?”  
“I have a project in the Imperial Library,” Magnus said. “I will be here for a while.”  
“I’m leaving at week’s end,” Gulliman said.  
“Then I am of the opinion,” Horus began, “that Ferrus? You need to take Fulgrim to bed and love him until his heart is eased.”  
“I don’t know about that,” said Ferrus. “I think I’d rather fuck him until he’s glad to see my ship leave.”  
“You are so crude,” Fulgrim sighed.  
“You adore it,” Ferrus countered.  
“I do,” Fulgrim agreed. They kissed briefly before standing. “Gentlemen, we take our leave of you. Sanguinius, I do hope you’ll join me for dinner day after tomorrow.”  
“I’d be glad to.”  
“Then we bid you a good night.” The odd pair left the gathering hand-in-hand.  
“They are such weirdoes,” Gulliman said, pouring himself another glass of wine after they had departed.  
Magnus shrugged. “We all are.”

The next day was similar to the one before. Sanguinius took a Thunderhawk down to lower ground and kept working on flight. This time, he managed to propel himself forward about fifty meters before falling, but the fall was controlled. After that, his wings were tired and he experienced diminishing returns, his flights being off less and less distance.  
Beyers advised him to rest the next day. Sanguinius’s wings and chest were sore, so he took analgesics and let his serfs comb through his feathers. Several had loosened or broken in his flight attempts, so he found himself glad to have someone to help him preen them out. Besides, Fulgrim had confirmed their dinner appointment, and it would not do at all to look ragged before appearing at Fulgrim’s. One of the serfs braided Sanguinius’s hair and helped him put on his shirt. Sanguinius was very much enjoying having clothes that were meant for him and accommodated his wings, and was requesting different garments every few days.

Sanguinius appeared at Fulgrim’s door at the appointed hour. When Fulgrim opened it, Sanguinius was surprised to see that his brother was dressed functionally in black trousers and a short-sleeved violet shirt.

When Sanguinus commented on this, Fulgrim smiled. “I’m cooking. I can’t cook in duty robes; the sleeves are too long and they get in the way. You look exceptionally handsome tonight.”

He’d had the vestarium make up several of the tunic and trousers combinations commonly worn on Baal Secundus. “This is what we wear at home. Rougher fabrics and duller colours though. Since I can have clothes that don’t itch, and in bright colours now, I get them.”

“A man after my own heart. You look terrific in green. Are those for me?”

San handed him the miniature flowering bush he’d brought. “I couldn’t come empty handed, but I couldn’t think of what to bring.” 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful and I love the blue leaves. I’ll set it on the table. Make yourself at home.”

Sanguinius walked in. As with all rooms in the palace, the main room in Fulgrim’s quarters was huge, rising up three stories. Balconies dripping with green and flowering plants looked down on it. One wall was glass, giving a view of the mountains and the night sky. The lights of the cities surrounding the palace sparkled beneath. 

“Wine?” Fulgrim asked. His kitchen was in a corner of the room, surrounded by a bar and stools. Sanguinius perched on one and accepted a glass with thanks. When Fulgrim turned his back, Sanguinius hastily touched the left side of his chest and the rim of the glass before sipping from it.

“I’m making lamb,” Fulgrim said. He slid a data slate to Sanguinius. “Baby sheep. That’s what it looks like.”

“Ah. Looks like a capridon . I raise those on Baal Secundus. Matter of fact, I had almost a thousand head when I left.” He frowned. “I hope they’re all right. Man’s not a man without livestock.”

Fulgrim put out a cutting board with cheese, crackers and fruit on it. “Russ is going to love you.”

“Because I have caprida?”

“He’s from a feral world too,” Fulgrim said, resting his elbows on the counter. He had a glass of wine in one hand and picked up some cheese with the other. “It’s an icy world whereas you’re from a hot one, but I think you have more in common than not. Raising animals, having to grow and kill what you eat, hoping the temperature doesn’t kill you first. I could never live like that.”

“Horus said about Secundus that…how did he word it? ‘Everything is hot, sharp, poisonous and wants to kill you.’ Which is about right. But there’s desert flowers, and hummingbirds, and the red rocks against that cobalt sky.” He sighed. “I’m going to make myself homesick.”  
“Chemos was just an industrial world when I was a baby,” Fulgrim said. “I led quite the cultural renaissance there as I grew older. My gallery is on the top floor. I can show it to you later. Some works I’ve collected over the years are down here in the main room. Take a look at them; I have to make some gravy and mash some root veggies. “

“Anything I can do to help?”

Fulgrim topped off both their glasses. “Have a look around and tell me what you think or feel about the pieces.”

Sanguinius did. Several of the paintings were abstract, so he leaned back and thought about the colours, if he liked them, and why. The sculptures were easier to interpret. However, it was jewelry that caught his eye particularly.

“Do you like that one? I made it.”

“Did you make all the art in the room?”

“No, I purchased the sculptures. I did the paintings and the jewelry. “

Sanguinius nodded, then strolled into the square of primarch-sized sofas. There were end tables besides them, one of which held a framed pict. It showed Fulgrim and Ferrus shirtless, covered in soot, and grinning widely. Fulgrim held a sword in his gauntleted hands and Ferrus gripped a warhammer. 

“That was our first date,” Fulgrim said from the kitchen as he chopped some vegetables. 

“What’s going on in this picture?”

“We had a contest to see who had the best forge skills and could make the best weapon. We were in Ferrus’s forge for three weeks.”

“It took three weeks to make these? That’s a lot of work to put into them. No wonder they’re magnificent.”

Fulgrim smirked. “I only said we were in the forge for three weeks. The weapons only took one.”

Sanguinius felt his face grow hot. Fulgrim giggled. “Horus said you would do that.”

“Blush? Unfortunately. I’m just a simple desert dweller from a rather prudish society.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s charming.”

“So, who won the contest.”

“We both did.”

“I mean, whose weapon did you decide was better?”

“We pronounced the other the winner and traded. So Ferrus made my sword and I made his warhammer.” Fulgrim came out from the kitchen area and placed a bowl of salad on the table. “You can help me put the food out,” he said.

The meal was exquisite, from the green salad to the root vegetable bisque, to the lamb and its side dishes and the wine they had with it. 

“The food here on Terra is so good,” Sanguinius sighed after cleaning his plate, “but I think this may have been the best meal I’ve had yet.”

“Thank you. Cooking is an art like any other, and I think you know how I feel about the arts. Ferrus is always teasing me about my ‘hobbies’. But I take them very seriously. They keep us human.” He smiled. “Still, it’s frustrating sometimes when I want to cook a fancy meal and all Ferrus wants is meat and boiled tubers with butter. I made some rice with saffron in it once and he almost lost his mind. I’ve been so happy watching you eat.”

“We use a lot of spices on Baal Secundus, and Baal itself as well. They help us cope with the heat, and it turns out that they have properties that defend us against the radiation as well. “

“Hot places and spices. Vulkan cooked with me once. He was the only person who could tolerate more than a spoonful or two of his own cooking. Russ tried, but he ended up swallowing a gallon of beer after four mouthfuls. Vulkan is very sweet, though. He’s another smith. It’s a good thing Ferrus and I were pair-bonded by the time he arrived because we could just see ourselves fighting over Vulkan if we weren’t, and it would have been completely ridiculous because Vulkan only likes women, anyway.”

Sanguinius fiddled with his wineglass. “I think it’s safe to ask you. Horus told me that Father accepts men loving other men. Is that true?”

Fulgrim snorted. “If Father didn’t accept it, he’d be a hypocrite. Oh, close your mouth and don’t look so shocked. You don’t get as old as he does without having at least a few flings with every sex and  
gender. Those male and female Custodes and assistants of his do more than just guard his body, trust me.” He reached for the wine bottle. “You look like you need a refill.”

“It’s so forbidden on Baal.”

Fulgrim filled his glass to the brim. “Well, Toto, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Sanguinius knocked back a gulp as if it were water. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do I, but I’ve heard Father say it whenever someone looks completely out of their element. Has to do with this place Kansas being very old-fashioned and parochial. I’m going to open another bottle.”

Fulgrim came over with an open bottle of wine and two dessert plates.“Pear tart. Horus told me you like pears.”

“That’s true, I do.”

Fulgrim filled his own glass and looked at Sanguinius over it. “I think I know something you like more.”

“Oh?”

“Horus.”

Sanguinius sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Ferrus noticed, and he’s dense as his own anvil. But I understand now why you’ve been so shy about pursuing him. What was the penalty on Baal for this, death?”

Sanguinius nodded. “I was out of reach for that; the Blood needed me too badly. Still, I kept my feelings to myself. My role as their leader was complicated enough as it is.” He gave his wings a flutter for emphasis. “They don’t take kindly to mutants on Baal Secundus, so it says something that they eventually let me lead them.”

“Sounds like it’s time for this desert butterfly to break out of his cocoon.”

“How do I tell Horus what I feel?”

“I can break the ice for you first. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“I hope it comes soon,” Sanguinius said with a smile.

“If all goes according to my plan, you and he both will,” said Fulgrim. “Do you want ice cream with that? I did make some.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sanguinius took a running start from the end of the practice yard and launched himself into the air. Not only had he begun to fly at higher altitudes, he’d started wearing his power armour instead of fatigues while doing it. He could only manage flights of about forty meters at a time in armour. Without, he could now do two or three laps across the practice yard. He was better at taking himself high into the air and then going into a controlled drop. Heights still made him queasy, but he was becoming much more tolerant of them. The knowledge that he could control his descent and not just plummet also helped.

Horus was in the corner, sparring with Magnus. They both were using axes, but Sanguinius had a suspicion that their activity was an excuse to be out in the yard, watching him. He alighted in front of them.

“You’ve gotten much better at that,” Magnus said.

“You are going to be a terror on the battlefield,” Horus added. “The wings of the Aquila made flesh, descending on the foes of the Imperium. Yet, a protective angel for its citizens.”

Sanguinius nodded in acknowledgement as he unwrapped a food bar and bit into it. Magnus waited until he was chewing the last mouthful before saying, “Could you meet me in my chambers when you’ve finished here? I can serve you lunch.”

Sanguinius nodded. “Let me take a shower and change. I certainly never turn down a meal.”

As he said, Sanguinius bathed and changed into a crimson robe trimmed in gold. He came to Magnus’s quarters and was allowed in by the sorceror’s porter. A moment later, he was standing motionless, stunned by beauty.

Magnus’s quarters were arranged differently from Sanguinius’s and Fulgrim’s. Rather than the three floors overlooking an atrium, Magnus had one high-ceilinged level. Tall stone columns painted with a lotus theme held up the ceiling. Paths wound among garden beds of luminous white flowers. A pond was in the center, and Sanguinius could see fish darting around among the lily pads. Brightly coloured birds flitted above.

“Welcome, brother,” Magnus called to him. Sanguinius now saw that the copper-skinned giant was reclining beside a low table. Sanguinius blinked, quite sure he had not been there a second before.

“Thank you,” he responded. “This place is incredible.”

“You like it? I’m glad. It pales before my home city of Tizca, but it has its comforts. Come and relax. Lunch is almost ready.”

There was a couch facing Magnus’s across the table. Sanguinius reclined on it the way his brother was, but his wings quickly became too heavy and he sat up, apologizing.

Magnus waved it off. “I didn’t know if you would be able to recline or not. Do what you need in order to feel comfortable. Wine?”

“Please.”

Servants in long linen tunics entered with trays of food as Magnus filled two goblets. The meal was vegetarian, a curry of vegetables served with flat bread and an array of condiments. 

Sanguinius didn't realize he was eating as fast as he was until he looked up and noticed that Magnus was still on his first plate while Sanguinius was starting his third. He lowered it and apologized.

Magnus shook his head. “You were flying today. I had the chef make extra. I eat far more than the others as well.”

“You are the largest of the brothers.”

“Not only that, but my meditations and other practices actually do burn calories.”

They chatted about their homeworlds, which could not have been more different, and about the as-yet-discovered primarchs. Dessert was a cold confection that Sanguinius had not encountered yet. It was a beige ball, served in a small bowl. It smelled like sugar.

“It's called ice cream,” Magnus told him. 

Sanguinius gave it a try. “This is the newest best thing I've ever tasted,” he announced.

“Hazelnut,” Magnus explained. “I figured that a nice ball of dairy protein, sugar and nuts might be something you would enjoy.”

“Mmph.”

+He has some on his nose+ Magnus sent telepathically to Horus and Fulgrim, along with the image.

“There is something Father asked me to address with you,” Magnus told him when the dessert dishes were cleared and Magnus had pointed out the ice cream on Sanguinius’s face.

“Oh?” Sanguinius was still cradling a cup of water in his hands.

“Psyker ability. Father is the most powerful psyker ever born. Many of us have a share in His enormous gifts. He asked me to see if you had any. So tell me, do you have any talent for, say, knowing what others are thinking? Do you have visions of the future? Can you influence the movement of objects?”

“Does having dreams count?”

“Very much.”

“I dreamed of the Emperor for years before He came to Baal Secundus. I thought it was just longing, myself. I have no foster parents, you see, I was raised with a pack of other orphans. I didn't think a lot about my dreams, because what orphan doesn't dream of having parents?”

Magnus nodded.

“I talked myself out of the idea that a father would ever come for me after a few years, and just saw the dreams as my mind comforting itself. But then...” Sanguinius smiled widely, “He did come for me, and I recognized Him. This has all been like a fairy tale. Sometimes I think this is the dream, and I'm going to wake up in my tent back on Secundus.” 

Magnus nodded. “That is good. I was friends with Father for years before He actually came to Prospero to bring me here to Terra. So you conclusively have some ability. I would like to find out precisely how much. Do you mind?”

“What do you need to do?”

“I'm just going to put my hands on your shoulders, but it's going to feel strange. It will be unlike anything you've ever felt before, probably. For some it's pleasant, for some it's neutral or mildly uncomfortable. Given what you've told me, I doubt you'll be in the number who find it actually painful.”

“All right.”

Magnus rose and settled down beside him. “Just look at my face,” he told Sanguinius, and put his hands on his shoulders.

Sanguinius expected Magnus to shut his eye, but instead, that piercing gaze met his. Sanguinius felt himself panic, feeling as if he'd been pulled into quicksand and was sinking fast. His breath quickened as he suddenly realized he was not alone in his own mind. He wanted to move, but couldn't. He wanted to shift his gaze from Magnus's eye, but couldn't. He could tell that Magnus was looking for something specific, not simply rummaging out of nosiness, but it was uncomfortable, as he'd been warned.

Then it was over, and and he was alone in his mind again. Magnus lifted his hands off Sanguinius's shoulders and raised them to Sanguinius's face, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. “You're the best of all of us,” he said.

“Am I?”

“You're more than those wings of yours. I can see why you miss Secundus so much. Everyone knows what you can do, there. On Secundus, you're a king, and you consider yourself one. Here on Terra, you feel like a mutant who is being used for a cause which you do not understand. Here, people see the wings before they see you. You are perceiving that correctly. It's a feeling I know all too well, looking the way I do.” He placed his hand on Sanguinius's. 

“What about my psyker abilities, if I have any?”

“Oh, you have them. You knew when one of your caprida had wandered off, didn't you?

“Yes, but I figured I just had a knack for keeping track of them.”

“There is no such thing as just having a “knack”. Nor are there “hunches” or “intuition”. I urge you to learn to meditate. I can assign you a tutor, and occasionally I can help you myself. The mantra I will give you is this: _I cannot fall._ ”

“You saw that I'm afraid of heights,” Sanguinius said.

“No, Horus told me that. You've overcome the fear very well. I compliment you. Most people would have retreated into the fear and turned it into a weight to hold them down. You rose above.”

Sanguinius nodded, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. “I think I need a nap.”

“I'm not surprised. This takes a lot out of a person.”

“Thank you for lunch. And the mantra and the advice.”

“It's what I am here to do.”

They exchanged a long hug, and Magnus sent him on his way.

Magnus returned to his couch and moved into the lotus position. He had seen Sanguinius's past and a blur of his future. 

Magnus the Red began to weep.

 

Fulgrim sat alone in his metalworking room. While it did have a small anvil and a collection of fine hammers, it wasn’t a forge like Ferrus or Vulkan had. This was for detailed, more delicate work.

It still reminded him of Ferrus, and Fulgrim’s eyes drifted again to a framed photograph of the two of them that he kept on a shelf over a counter. He pouted mildly, thinking of the lonely bed that awaited him downstairs. Oh well. At least he could turn his efforts towards keeping Horus and Sanguinius from such a sad fate.

So. Sanguinius. Olive skin, black hair, eyes a strange copper-red colour. His robes were red and gold in various combinations. Fulgrim went to a chest that contained dozens of drawers of different sizes and started browsing through them. Some gold plates in the shape of elongated wedges the size of his smallest fingers caught his eye, so he took them out and lay them on the central table in the room. He went to his collection of gemstones next. He thought about rubies, but decided that garnets were actually a bolder shade despite the lesser value of the stones. It wasn’t about cost, he reminded himself, this was about the effect of the finished product.

When he discovered that he had been stashing away onyx for some reason, Fulgrim added a few pieces of that, too. 

Raw materials collected, he sat down with his sketchpad and began to play around with designs.

 

In the evening, a few days later, Horus was alone in his quarters, answering messages from the quartet of officers he’d recruited as his advisors. The vox on his desk chimed and his porter announced that Fulgrim was in the atrium, wishing to see him briefly. 

He walked to the atrium to greet Fulgrim, who was holding a large cube-shaped box.

“Horus? Would you mind giving this to Sanguinius?”

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

Horus put the box on a table and opened the front. Inside was a featureless mannequin bust. Around its shoulders was a flat round collar made of the gold wedges Fulgrim had found in his workroom. Garnets were set into the ends of each wedge and pieces of onyx were placed between the gold.

Horus gave Fulgrim a quizzical look. “Fulgrim? Are you trying to woo our Sanguinius?”

“Absolutely not. Ferrus and I are happy as we are. Sanguinius is so beautiful, but so austere, and I couldn’t resist making something to adorn that plain little sparrow.”

“Why don’t you give it to him yourself, then?”

“That might make Ferrus jealous, and it’s never good when Ferrus is jealous. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at Sanguinius and thought you might need a little help.”

Horus looked askance at him. “How do I look at him?”

“You light up like the full moon on a clear night. He feels the same way about you.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me at dinner a few weeks ago. I thought I could help things along. Sanguinius gets a pretty, you get to give him the pretty, I get to see him wear it and Ferrus doesn’t get jealous.” Fulgrim lay a hand on Horus’s arm conspiratorially. “A little servo-skull told me that he’s in his quarters right now, if you want to give it to him. You don’t need to say it was my idea. Just say you had it commissioned.”

Horus reached out and hugged Fulgrim. “Thank you, brother. I was wondering if I could or should pursue this.”

“Yes to both.” Fulgrim touched the tip of Horus’s nose with his forefinger. “Beep.”

Alone in his rooms again, Horus regarded the necklace. It would match Sanguinius’s looks perfectly, because Fulgrim did everything perfectly. The idea of giving it to Sanguinius shouldn’t have been frightening at all, but it was. 

There was no reason. No reason at all.

Horus closed up the box and resolutely left his suite. _He probably won’t like it anyway_ , he thought to himself.

Sanguinius’s serfs opened the door to Sanguinius’s quarters. He was clearly becoming more comfortable in his role as a primarch; they were now wearing a distinctive livery of tan tunics with the winged drop of blood embroidered on them. Horus announced himself and the porter went to the vox unit on a small table in the atrium.

“Sire? Lord Horus is here to see you.” After a moment the serf closed the vox unit and said, “Lord Sanguinius will receive you in his study, Sire.”

The study was up on the first floor. The chamber was full of bookshelves and a large, heavy, oak table in the center. The bookshelves were only about half full and there was an eclectic collection of statues and paintings on the table. Horus took them in with a glance, registering that they were all images of angels. He wondered for a moment if Sanguinius were researching something, or if he just felt a need to surround himself with figures that looked like him.

Sanguinius had just risen from an angled scriptorium desk, where he had been seated on a high stool with a low padded back. He wore a very simple wine-coloured robe, belted at the waist and bare of adornment.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Sanguinius asked about the box.

“This was Fulgrim’s idea,” Horus said. 

“All right…” Sanguinius said, and started to open it.

Horus held his breath. _This was a mistake. He’s going to think it’s ridiculous…_

Sanguinius gasped. “This is for me?” He reached in and removed the necklace, touching the components gently.

“Fulgrim suggested it. I got it for you. If you don’t like it—“

“I love it! It’s so beautiful!” He stroked the gold. “I’m not used to the idea of things for me being so…fine.”

He undid the latch and Horus stepped forward to help him put it on. Their hands touched and lingered on each other for just a moment. Then Sanguinius was running up the stairs, to look at it in the full-length mirrors in his bedroom. The plain robe set the gold off to best effect and the onyx and garnet provided just the right bit of sparkle. 

“So you do like it?” Horus asked, feeling a little terrified and a little relieved.

“Yes! Thank you, Horus!” Sanguinius flung himself into Horus’s arms.

Horus slipped his arms under Sanguinius’s wings and held him closer. Fulgrim said that Sanguinius felt romantically towards him. Chances were that Fulgrim had something similar to Sanguinius about Horus. So when Sanguinius looked up at him, Horus knew that it was up to him to make a move. 

Horus stroked the necklace where it lay on Sanguinius’s shoulders, then placed his hands on either side of Sanguinius’s face. He inclined his head and kissed his lips softly. After a moment, Horus pulled back and asked, “Was that all right?”

“Better than all right.” 

“It’s something you’ve wanted?”

“I was afraid it would never happen.”

They kissed again, longer now. Lips parted and tongues touched. Horus pulled Sanguinius in close, and Sanguinius’s hands pressed tight against Horus’s back.

“Are you sure this is all right?” Sanguinius asked nervously after a few minutes. “Father won't be angry?”

Horus shrugged. “He never said anything about Fulgrim and Ferrus, and they've been lovers for I’m not sure how many decades now.”

“All right.” He resumed the kiss.

“San?”

“Mm?”

“Now may I touch your wings?”

He nodded. 

“How do I get your robe off?”

Sanguinius turned his back to Horus, raising his wings. Horus saw that his tunic went on like an apron, held closed with one button at the back of the neck. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt. Horus undid the button , the tunic fell to the floor, and Sanguinius was bare to the waist.

His body was unlike that of any man Horus had ever seen. The surgery to make him able to fly had left Sanguinius with an unusually deep chest and hyperdeveloped deltoids and lats. The effect was different but not unpleasant. 

They walked hand in hand to the bed and sat down. Horus reached up for the long bones of Sanguinius's wings, running his fingers along them, then down through his feathers. Sanguinius shuddered and twitched the wing away. “Don't do that. Feathers aren't hair, and it doesn't feel good. Stroke the back of my wing, along the feathers—yes, that's it.”

Horus did so, marveling at how huge each flight feather was. A meter and a half at least. A moment later he noticed one feather that was turned slightly, so without thinking he reached out and replaced it properly.

“Ooh. Thank you. I would have noticed it eventually,” Sanguinius said. Turning his head to look at Horus he explained, “Sometimes my feathers get twisted like that. It's uncomfortable. Normally I would have noticed, but,” he smiled and ran fingertips down Horus's face, “you've distracted me.”

“What else would distract you?”

Sanguinius lay face-down on Horus's lap. “The skin on my back between my wings. Scratch that.”

Horus carefully rubbed the juncture of human skin and feathers with his fingertips. His nails were cut very short for convenience, but it seemed to be enough, if the sighs and small moans were any indication. He had to be careful with the pinfeathers that indicated new feathers coming in, and he could see that Sanguinius's unique body was going to be a source of fascination for him for a long time.

After a few minutes, Sanguinius pushed himself up with one arm while reaching out to stroke Horus's face. They resumed kissing, and Sanguinius not-so-gently brought Horus down onto the bed. Horus didn't see any reason to argue as Sanguinius straddled him. Sanguinius's long, dark hair fell around Horus's face like a curtain and smelled faintly of cardamom. 

Sanguinius's fingers undid the lacings of Horus's shirt. Horus took the hint, sat up, and removed his upper clothing. They both sighed happily at the first touch of bare skin to bare skin. Sanguinius remained draped over Horus, and pulled his wings around them like a canopy.

“I could hold you forever,” Sanguinius murmured.

“I could hold you longer,” Horus responded, and they both laughed. “Listen to us. Is this what love does to a person?”

“So I've heard. But it's all right, there's no one here to hear it but us.”

Horus kissed him again. “I don't have anywhere to be early tomorrow. You?”

“No.” Sanguinius ran his fingers through Horus's short hair. “Which is good. I want to take this slowly.”

“Have you had any lovers?” Horus asked.

Sanguinius shook his head. “Never. Not even after I made same-sex relations legal. I was always too ashamed of my body.”

“That needs to stop right now,” Horus said. “I am quite sure that you have nothing to be ashamed of…” he undid the fastening of Sanguinius’s trousers, “anywhere on your body.” 

Sanguinius shifted around so Horus could slide his clothes off. Horus looked down and said, “I was right.”

Sanguinius looked embarrassed, but happy. He kissed Horus again and undid his belt and trousers. They shifted up from the foot of the bed to the head, stopped to arrange pillows to hold up Sanguinius’s wings, and resumed kissing and exploring.

After a while, Horus noticed that Sanguinius’s hands hadn’t gone below Horus’s waist. Horus wondered why for a moment, then realized Sanguinius was waiting for permission of some kind. Horus gently took one of Sanguinius’s hands and, not wanting to be needlessly subtle, placed it on Horus’s erection.

Sanguinius broke the kiss to look down at his hand and where it was now resting. He responded by carefully inspecting it, tilting it this way and that, then smiling and giving it a few strokes. Horus sighed happily, then asked, “Can you sit up against the head of the bed?

“I have to prop my wings up to the side, but yes.”

“Why don’t you do that? This time should be for you.”

“I take it you’ve done this before.”

Horus nodded. “I didn’t grow to adulthood here in the palace without trying out everything that interested me. Before you ask, yes, I’ve been with men and women. And that’s enough talk.”

They situated Sanguinius against the headboard, wings pulled out of the way and supported. Horus crawled up to give him a long kiss, then continued on down his neck, shoulders and chest, stopping at each nipple, then down his arched sternum. Sanguinius felt a rush of merged embarrassment/excitement/nerves/want and need as he realized what Horus was about to do to him. 

Horus stopped just below Sanguinius’s navel. “You’re shivering. Your wings are shaking; there’s no use hiding it. Are you all right?”

“Just excited and nervous.”

Horus reached up. “Hold my hand.” Their fingers twined together. “If anything bothers you, tell me. Agreed?”

Sanguinius nodded. “Agreed.”

Horus placed his other hand on Sanguinius’s hip and took his length into his mouth. Horus was rewarded with a soft cry from Sanguinius, so he knew he was doing well so far. He thought briefly about how unbelievable it was that the other primarch had never been allowed to enjoy this. Well, Sanguinius was enjoying it now, given the sounds he was making and how his hips were moving along with Horus’s strokes. 

Horus knew this wouldn’t take long, and it didn’t. Sanguinius had been grabbing at the pillows above his head, but his hands now snapped down to Horus’s shoulders. Horus thought Sanguinius might be trying to push him away, so Horus let go of his hand and clung to Sanguinius’s hips, rocking along with him as he thrashed and moaned through his climax.

Once Sanguinius had settled down, Horus let him go, stopping to kiss his inner thighs softly as he swallowed. He climbed up the bed to rest his head on Sanguinius’s chest.

Sanguinius stroked Horus’s short hair. “Thank you. That was better than I ever hoped.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Horus assured him, and kissed the palm of Sanguinius’s hand.

“What about you, though?”  
Horus took Sanguinius’s hand and placed it on his own member. “You had a good start earlier. I’m going to put my hand over yours so I can show you how I like it.”

“Oh,” said Sanguinius, who had obviously never thought of anyone doing this. He was a quick study though, and soon Horus was able to release his lover’s hand and let Sanguinius continue on his own. He watched Sanguinius’s expressions though, and the look of concentration on his face brought a smile to Horus’s lips. _He is so sweet. He wants to please me so much, and he does._

Sanguinius needed a little guidance on what to do as Horus approached orgasm, which Horus provided. Just as Horus was moments away from climax, Sanguinius twisted around and took Horus into his mouth, which had the result of Horus coming immediately.

Sanguinius sat up, looking puzzled as to what he should do next. Horus spotted a box of tissues on the bedside table and grabbed a few, holding them to Sanguinius’s mouth. “It’s okay. Spit.”

Sanguinius did, and wiped his mouth. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you beautiful, silly thing,” Horus said.

“I wanted to,” Sanguinius told him. “It felt so unbelievably wonderful when you did it to me.”

“I didn’t want to rush you into anything you weren’t ready for.” Horus gathered Sanguininus into his arms. “Throne, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I never want you to be ashamed of your body again, you understand me? You’re beautiful beyond words. When your legion meets you, they are going to have to deal with every other legion being jealous of their breathtaking primarch.”

“Horus? Is it normal to get sleepy after sex?”

“Very.”

“Good, because I am.”

They paused to take the necklace off and put it aside. Horus turned off the lights as Sanguinius rearranged his pillows. He slept curled in a fetal position, his wings lying behind him like another person in the bed. Horus lay on his side, facing him, lightly stroking hair from Sanguinius’s face as he fell asleep. Sanguinius’s hand lay on Horus’s pillow, and Horus kissed it again. It was going to be fun training Sanguinius in the arts of love, and Horus reflected briefly on how it meant being able to teach him how to be Horus’s perfect lover.

 

They slept in late the next morning. Horus awakened first, to the clear light that occurs at high altitudes when it is too bitterly cold to snow. It was a little cool in the bedroom, but he was warm in Sanguinius's embrace.

Horus was on his back with Sanguinius's head pillowed on his chest. One wing was extended protectively over Horus, the other furled. Horus's arm rested along the line of his lover's spine, covered partially by his long black hair. Horus wanted to change position and use the toilet, but he was so warm and comfortable and Sanguinius was so, so beautiful.

A few minutes later, Sanguinius emitted a single snore and Horus couldn't suppress a laugh. Sanguinius raised his head and blinked at him. “What's so funny?

“I'm sorry. You snored and it was adorable.”

“Mm.” Sanguinius rubbed his nose and sniffed. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

They kissed, after which Sanguinius sat up and stretched. Horus watched in awe as his brother's ten-meter wingspan extended above him. “I will never get tired of seeing that.”

Sanguinius scratched his opposite shoulders. “Me stretching?”

“Indeed. Excuse me for a moment.” Horus got up and went to the bathroom while Sanguinius rearranged himself on the bed. Horus returned and they snuggled up together under the blankets.

They took some time for love-play, after which Sanguinius asked for breakfast. He wrapped himself in a robe and Horus threw on his clothes from the previous night, so they were dressed and sitting in the lounge when the meal was delivered. As they ate, a message arrived, brought by an Imperial servant and presented in an expensive linen-paper envelope. Sanguinius opened it and read the contents.

“What is it?” Horus asked.

Sanguinius reviewed the words. “It's from Father. He says it's time for me to meet my Legion.”


	5. Chapter 5

A few weeks later, a massive ship pulled into high orbit over Terra. The time for the IX Primarch to meet his Legion Master had come.

Sanguinius was very aware of this. He sat on the domed top of a spire, looking up. He couldn’t make the ship out very well, but he could definitely see the massive battle-barge parked at the high anchorage against the twilit sky. 

His battle-barge. The Falcon’s Wings. 

He kept his eyes on the sky. Even though he knew that he couldn’t fall, looking down over the edge of the dome still made Sanguinius distinctly queasy.

First there would be his Investiture, and the change of command from the Legion Master to Sanguinius. After that, he and the Legion, who at this point were all recruited from Terra, would return to the Baal system for a while. There they would lay the foundations of their fortress, which would be the mother house for all trainees and higher level commanders.

Sanguinius could tell that the “childhood” part of his time on Terra was nearing its close. After this he would be Primarch Sanguinius, father of his legion. Horus had told him about the process of making a human into an Astartes, so Sanguinius was now very careful to save any hair clinging to his brush in the morning so that the cells in the roots could be harvested for gene-seed.

Speaking of which, Horus would be waiting for Sanguinius to join him for dinner. Sanguinius stood with his hand on the lightning rod that emerged from the dome and, keeping his eyes on the horizon and not the ground, extended his wings and stepped forward.

His wings immediately caught the air, and he beat down with them to go forward and stay aloft. He caught a downdraft and went with it, holding his wings out for a slowly descending glide. A twitch of one wing or the other guided him in the direction he wanted. Sanguinius had grown to love this feeling of being a hawk or other bird of prey, soaring regally as he wished. He still didn’t like the sight of the ground below him, but if he wasn’t sitting on anything the vertigo was much less. Magnus had told him he could not fall. Sanguinius believed him.

A slight cant to the east brought Sanguinius to the wide balcony outside Horus’s quarters. His booted feet touched the flagstones and he landed in a crouched position. He stood, furled his wings, smoothed his black fatigues and went in through the sliding glass doors.

Horus’s table was set for two, with a covered basket of bread already on the table alongside several open bottles of wine. As soon as Sanguinius approached, he lit some candles. “The servitors will be over with dinner in a moment.”

Sanguinius walked over and kissed him. “I was up on the spires, looking at my battle barge.”

“Impressive, isn’t it? “

Sanguinius dropped into his chair, which had a low back so that he could drape his wings over it. “Overwhelming is what I’d call it. It’s huge.”

“Well, things in the Imperium tend to be of that scale.”

Sanguinius buttered a slice of bread and bit into it. “I’ve noticed.” He poured a glass of wine.

The servitors rolled in with soup and salad first. As soon as his was set in front of him, Sanguinius touched his chest and the plates.

“Are you still doing that?” Horus asked.

“Even if you don’t believe, it’s important to be grateful for all one has,” Sanguinius told him. “I can see why you wouldn’t understand that.”

They ate in silence for a moment before Sanguinius said, “So tell me. What do I need to know for meeting my Legion Master tomorrow?”

“He’s Captain Raldoron. He’ll tell you about some other officers named Azkaellon and Amit.” Horus had a few spoonfuls of soup. “Armour is the appropriate garb for this event,” Horus continued. “Your Legion Master is also your First Captain. He’ll fill you in on what the legion’s strengths and weaknesses are, what it needs, and so on.”

“That’s all things I have handled in the past,” Sanguinius said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to organize an army.”

“Well, the legion will already be organized,” Horus told him. “Your job is to customize it to what you and the company captains require. You’ll be allowed to re-name it, for instance.

“I am overwhelmed by the idea that I’m about to become the father of 100,000 or so men,” Sanguinius admitted.

“That is indeed something to get used to,” Horus agreed. “I was well prepared, and my first brother to be found, Leman Russ, adjusted immediately. It took Ferrus some time to get used to the idea.”

“They are part of me,” Sanguinius said. “They all have my genetics in them.” He smiled, but it was a confused smile. “I never thought I would have children of my own, and suddenly I’m going to be the father of a multitude. Do you feel like a father to your legion, Horus?”

“I do,” Horus told him. “I didn’t at first, but when you have all these people looking to you as their leader and their example, it begins to happen. It’s when you realize how much more powerful you are than they.”

Sanguinius sat quietly in thought. “Then I do know how to be a primarch,” he said. “When I organized the Blood into a coherent fighting force. When I took care of the other orphans in the tribe because I was the biggest and the smartest.” He looked up at Horus. “I can do this.”

“Father created us to lead,” Horus said. “It comes naturally as breathing.”

 

Sanguinius opted for red armour. He had several suits of it now, in red, in gold, in black, in combinations, in both functional warplate and elaborate confections that he couldn’t fly while wearing. This red suit was meant for battle. It was articulated for maximum flexibility and gave him a narrower profile than the ceremonial suits. A winged red spearhead was worked in enamel on his breastplate and left pauldron, with the number IX on the right. A red spearhead for his legion, the Crimson Warfalcons. 

Sanguinius began that morning as he had every day for the past month or so, by waking up beside Horus. They had spent the night in Sanguinius’s quarters, and after breakfast Horus departed to allow Sanguinius to prepare. His serfs helped him into his red armour, then brushed his hair and preened his wings, taking the loose feathers away as sources of DNA. 

The section of the palace allocated to IX Legion contained Sanguinius’s apartments as well as the Legion headquarters. One of the chambers within it was a throne room for the primarch himself. This had taken Sanguinius aback; on Secundus, he sat on cushions on the floor with the other tribal chiefs. The Imperium took the primarchs’ status as princes very seriously, and the trappings of royalty were impossible to avoid. 

The chamber was immense and round. The floor and walls were red marble, the panels separated by white pillars with gilt pediments. It was still fairly plain, with empty wall niches that would eventually be filled with statues of Legion heroes, or would display artwork selected by the primarch. 

Sanguinius’s throne was on a raised dais. Horus had been thorough about explaining court etiquette and what was and was not acceptable.

“From your legion,” Horus made clear. “From you, anything is acceptable. Be careful about that; if you have some kind of eccentricity you may find everyone emulating it.”

Sanguinius raised an eyebrow as he lifted his wingtips.

“Yes. Expect to see wing symbolism everywhere. It’ll be like me, moons, and wolves. You are going to get immensely tired of it.”

So now Sanguinius sat in his throne, watching as two Custodes pulled the great sculptured bronze doors open. The man who entered was wearing scarlet armour similar to Sanguinius’s. He approached down the long runner of Baalite carpet, and Sanguinus stifled a laugh as the man almost stopped short and fell halfway down. He recovered and approached, lowering himself to one knee and bowing his head reverently.

“My lord.”

Sanguinius stood, stepped down from the dais, and reached his gauntleted hand down to the kneeling man. “Stand, please. You must be First Captain Raldoron.”

Raldoron looked up, awe written large across his face, and his eyes full of tears. “I was not prepared to be so…overwhelmed, lord.”

“I was told I might have that effect on people. Stand, please.”

Raldoron did. His head was as high as Sanguinius’s shoulder. His eyes were grey, as was his long ponytail. 

“Walk with me.” Sanguinius placed a hand on Raldoron’s shoulder and wrapped a wing around him. Raldoron looked down at the feathers draped over his pauldron. “Were you warned in advance about my wings?”

“I was, lord. However, being told about them and actually seeing them are two very different things. I didn’t expect them to be so…large.”

“They have to be, to be able to lift me. My bones are hollow, I don’t weigh a great deal, and I’ve been told I’m the shortest primarch discovered so far, but yes, my wings have to be this size.”

He walked Raldoron to one of the wide flagstone balconies that were common in the palace. A view of   
the Himalayzans spread before them. There was a big solid wooden table and chairs, set for dining. Sanguinius pulled out a chair for Raldoron, and the First Captain went pale. Not used to having someone of my status treat them kindly, Sanguinius thought to himself. Interesting. I’ll have to change that.

Sanguinius knew all his current legionaries were from Terra, but that they had to adjust to his Baalite ways, not the other way around. He took his own seat, cueing his serfs to come forward with water, wine, and shallow bowls with dumplings in broth. Raldoron said nothing as Sanguinius went through his usual pre-meal ritual and waited until his lord had started eating before lifting his own spoon. A cautious man. “Tell me about the legion,” Sanguinius requested.

Raldoron produced a data slate and began to consult it. He gave Sanguinius the rundown of the Crimson Warfalcons numbers; the number of legionaries, how many companies they had, how many ships, and so on and so on. Sanguinius had to order the man to put the slate away and eat his dumplings. After that they were brought a Secundan-style pilaf with mutton, the closest thing the Terran cook had been able to replicate the most common meal on Sanguinius’s home moon. 

“All right,” Sanguinius said at the end of Raldoron’s recitation. “Now tell me about the men.”

“My lord?”

“You’ve given me an inventory, but I want to know about the culture. What’s it like aboard a ship? Where are the legionaries from? How do you train?”

Raldoron nodded. “I understand. We’re all from Terra, right now, and we specialize in high-speed, deep-striking tactics…”

They talked for a few hours, over plates of fruits and nuts, wine and tea. When they were finished, Sanguinius walked Raldoron to the door and asked for the data slate.

“I want to re-read the list of the companies, the captains, and the names of all the men under my command. I intend to memorize them.”

Raldoron handed it to him. “Certainly, my lord. The first voyage after the Investiture will be to Baal, where we will be laying the cornerstone for our fortress-monastery and starting our first class of novices.”

“I’ll look forward to that. Baal Secundus is a wretched place, and I’m not ashamed to say that, but it’s been long enough that I’ve become a little nostalgic.”

 

“I’m not planning the Investiture itself,” Fulgrim told Sanguinius later that night as they drank wine in Sanguinius’s quarters. “Father has a huge staff for that. He asked me to handle the matter of your appearance at the Investiture.”

“What do you mean? I intend to be there on time.”

“I mean, what you’ll look like, and the impression you make.”

Sanguinius shook his head. “I still don’t understand.”

Fulgrim took his hand and led him to a mirror. “Look at you. You’re a primarch, for Throne’s sake. You’re gorgeous, and you have those wings! But you come across as such a plain little sparrow, and that’s just wrong.” 

Sanguinius turned on Fulgrim with a glower. “Ever since I’ve gotten here, people have told me how magnificent I am in one breath and then found fault with me in the next. I’m tired of it. I’m—“ 

Fulgrim crossed his arms and slipped from being a chattering fop to being a martial demigod. “A sparrow cannot tear flesh for the Imperium. I have no intention of turning you into another me. I do beauty and perfection and yes, some excess. That’s my ‘gimmick’, my ‘motif’. We all have one, and you need to find yours.”

“Now I really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Let me show you.” Fulgrim retrieved his data slate and called up a gallery. “It’s not enough for us to just be enormous, charismatic, very smart men. Image is everything. You’ve seen the picture of me and Ferrus after our contest in the forge. Now, this is us in armour.”

The pict had been taken from below. The two stood on a reviewing stand, not looking at the camera. The armour was noticeable first; Fulgrim’s bright purple and Ferrus’s glossy black, both with gold bas-relief on their breastplates and a huge gilt wing on Fulgrim’s left shoulder. Once the eye was drawn up to their faces, one could see that Fulgrim’s face was lightly made up to accentuate his eyes and mouth and fine-boned beauty. If Ferrus were wearing makeup, it wasn’t evident, although his craggy good looks were. 

Still, if one looked for it, it could be seen that Ferrus’s silver fingers were grasping two of the fingers of Fulgrim’s gauntlet. 

“We’re still Ferrus and Fulgrim,” Fulgrim explained, “but it’s more important for us to be primarchs. Have you ever thought of how you want to be seen and thought of?” 

“That’s a problem,” Sanguinius told him. “I want to be taken seriously, but I look like an angel, and when I’ve asked for pictures of angels, they all look like children or girls.”

“They’re getting the images from the wrong place,” Fulgrim said. “Here.”

He opened up the cogitator on the table and typed into it. “Saint Mykal the Archangel,” Fulgrim said. “Very famous warrior-angel since time immemorial. Your servitors kept pulling up images from the western ecclesiarchies when they should have been looking to the east. See? What do you think of that?”

Sanguinius leaned forward to look at the collage of pictures in front of him. The winged man in question looked androgynous, but then, so did he. There were a number of symbols common to many of them; the scales, a sword, some archaic armour that wouldn’t protect very well. Over and over though, Mykal was doing battle with—

Sanguinius yelped as a spear of pain went through his forehead. He slumped forward, clutching his head. 

“San! San! What’s wrong?”

The pain faded as quickly as it had attacked. 

“What happened?” Fulgrim asked. “Do you need a medicae?”

“This picture.” Sanguinius pointed to one in particular. It showed the winged man holding up a monster’s head. “It just hit something in my brain.”

“Didn’t you fight a lot of monstrous things on Secundus?”

“Yes. This doesn’t feel like a memory, though. More like one of my nightmares.”

“You have nightmares?”

“Not often, thankfully, but when I do, I’m fighting something, and I’m flying.” He shook his head and took another swallow of wine. “Probably nothing.”

“You might want to talk to Magnus about them.”

“I might, but I’m recovered. Your ideas?”

Fulgrim opened up a sketchpad and started drawing. 

When dawn came, Sanguinius was asleep face-down on one of the sofas. Fulgrim knelt down beside him and waved a mug of hot caf under his nose. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Sanguinius opened his eyes and sat up. He accepted the mug and Fulgrim held up a sketch in coloured pencil.

“What do you think of this?” Fulgrim asked.

Sanguinius nodded. “I think that might be successful,” he agreed.

Fulgrim sat beside him. “I got the idea from those photos of Secundan sunsets you showed me. Your legion colours are red and gold. I decided to emphasize the gold with you, because I think you should look like the sun.”

Sanguinius nodded.

“So our next step is for me to contact Severina Jikssenen. She's an image consultant, and one of my favourites. After she works her magic, they'll be remembering you like that for millenia.”

 

The day of the Investiture drew nearer. The Crimson Warfalcons rehearsed the ceremony over and over, peforming drill and ceremony for hours every day. Sanguinius robed himself as an ogryn servitor and concealed himself above the great arena of the Investiary to watch them. He was thoroughly proud of his Baalite forces, driving off mutant tribes and irradiated monsters with spears, swords, and bows. These men though…they were huge, and disciplined. His Baalite forces would be rebelling at being made to march around an arena for hours and hours, just to rehearse for an event. These Crimson Warfalcons were like machines. It seemed ironic that a winged mutant from Baal Secundus felt he’d have to bring humanity to a Space Marine legion.

Finally, the day came. The ceremony was scheduled for after sunset, so after the midday meal, Fulgrim came to Sanguinius with the famous Severina in tow.

“Your hair is in curlers,” Sanguinius said to Fulgrim.

“So it is,” Fulgrim said, patting it. “It has to be perfect for tonight. Severina is working on me too, we are going to be the most gorgeous things ever seen out there.”

“I love working with Lord Fulgrim,” Severina said. She was a tall woman whose face showed the sign of rejuvenat treatments. Her hair was bobbed neatly and she wore enormous spectacles that were in fact augmetics that enhanced her colour and light vision. Her hands showed extra fingers, but otherwise she looked human enough. She wore a tan suit that perfectly sat on her figure. Her message was clear from her appearance: she was there to make others look good.

She was also one of the few people who didn’t seem overwhelmed by Sanguinius on first seeing him. She stood on a stepladder to peer closely at him, lifted his hair, studied his posture, and held a hologram colour wheel against him. Sanguinius only complained when she started rustling through his feathers as if they were fabric samples.

“That hurts!” he told her.

She didn’t apologize. “This is a lot to work with. I’m very excited,” she said, unsmiling. “The gold armour. We’ll plan everything around the gold armour.”

Severina and Fulgrim left the room to discuss something. A few minutes later, they came back in and Fulgrim said, “We agree. Blond hair for you tonight.”

“What?”

“Blond hair with the gold armour. It’s the whole Baal/solar theme.”

Sanguinius glanced down at his black ponytail, where it hung to just beneath his elbow. “But I’m dark. No one will recognize me if you make me blond.”

“On the contrary, they will never forget you,” Severina said. “Get into whatever you wear under your armour. We’ll do you hair first.”

Stung, Sanguinius changed into a black bodyglove. Fulgrim steered Sanguinius to the hair sink. “We’re not going to go too blond. We’re going to add some red too. Just relax.”

“I’m very dubious about this, I’ll have you know.”

It wasn't an unpleasant process, much like having his hair washed. Afterwards, they sat Sanguinius down for makeup. Sanguinius expected brushes and sponges for applying colour, but Severina brought out an airbrush and treated his skin like a canvas. That took a good hour, after which tech-priests clamped his armour around him as they burned incense and chanted in binary code. Finally, Severina stood on her stepstool again to brush his hair, arrange it within his armour, and spray it with fixative.

“I feel like a mannequin,” Sanguinius said. He could feel the makeup on his eyelids and lips particularly, like a paper thin mask. He also felt that if he smiled or had any other facial expression that it would crack and fall off.

Fulgrim and Severina stood back to admire their handiwork. “There,” she said, smiling for the first time. “That’s the Angel we need the world to see. Turn around. You need to see yourself, too.”

Sanguinius shuffled around and looked in the mirror. It took him a moment to recognize himself, because the being that looked back at him was someone else. He walked closer and touched the glass with his gauntleted hand to reassure himself that this was not some kind of trick.

“Fulgrim, Severina, I can’t believe this is me.”

In the mirror, he saw Fulgrim grin behind him. “You are now more ‘you’ than ever before. You’re a son of the Emperor. You’re a Primarch.”

 

The floor of the Investiary was full of red-armoured Space Marines in precisely ordered ranks. They were formed up in companies, each with their Captain and a gold-armoured officer at the front. Chapter Master Raldoron stood at the front, holding a flaming torch.

The legionaries snapped to attention as one as Malcador the Sigillite walked onto the great marble balcony overlooking the arena. He was followed by Horus and Fulgrim on his right side, with the enormous Magnus on his left. A moment later, the Emperor Himself appeared, clad in his most fantastically elaborate warplate, the golden laurel crown of Terra on his brow. He advanced to the balustrade.

“My Ninth Legion, Crimson Warfalcons, my beloved grandsons,” the Emperor addressed them. No amplfication was needed to project his voice to even the neophytes in the back rows. “Tonight we rejoice! Your father has been found, and tonight, I am pleased and honoured to introduce him to you.”

Sanguinius stood out of sight behind the doors to the balcony. The Emperor was giving his legion a narrative of Sanguinius's life and discovery. Sanguinius smiled a little, but his face was still stiff under the cosmetics. It was strange to hear someone talk about him in such heroic terms. He was just an orphan boy who had been found and raised by the Blood, after all.

“.....I present to you your Primarch, Sanguinius.”

That was his cue. Sanguinius took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

Horus, standing by his father's side, moved with the Emperor as He allowed Sanguinius to pass. As Sanguinius did, Horus couldn't stifle a gasp. Even the Emperor did a double-take. 

Fulgrim just smiled.

The plain desert sparrow had transformed into an angel of sunlight. The torchlight reflected off his golden armour, turning his snowy wings red. Blond hair framed his patrician features and emphasized the coppery colour of his eyes. Behind his head rose a gold solar corona, sparkling with rubies and inscribed with runes.

The Ninth Legion emitted a collective gasp of their own. Sanguinius knew that they’d been told about the wings, so apparently they were reacting to his fabulous appearance. He walked forward and extended his arms.

“It’s with a full and joyous heart that I greet you today, my sons!” he announced. He and Fulgrim had written the speech together, based on suggestions from the Emperor. “My father the Emperor, beloved by all—“

“Beloved by all,” the legion responded in unison.

“—has spoken in the most glowing terms about you. I’ve listened with great admiration as he has recounted to me the stories of your victories and finest moments. It is an intimidating thought to picture myself as leading you, as you have shown yourself to be everything that the Emperor could expect from his warriors. How can I, a tribal leader from Baal’s primitive second moon, rise to such a height?

“Then I remembered, I am a son of the emperor. Not only that, rising to any height and any challenge is possible when you have wings!”

Sanguinius snapped his wings outward and jumped over the balcony rail. He flapped down hard, the resulting wind putting out half of the torches that were illuminating the Investiary. He laughed as they looked up at him, bewildered. He knew they’d been told of his unusual appearance, but the implications had failed to sink in. He hurtled across the open space of the Investiary to a shrouded statue along the rim. It stood between a statue of Ferrus Manus and a pedestal that was still empty. He tore the canvas shroud from it and let it drop to the ground, never once pausing in his flight. He looped around the new statue of himself and flew back to the balcony, alighting gracefully on the marble floor.

“Show-off,” Fulgrim whispered to the now sweaty and mussed Sanguinius, but he was smiling as he said it.

The Emperor was smirking a tiny bit as Sanguinius faced him. The Master of Mankind made a small gesture and Sanguinius’s hair slipped back into its previous, un-windblown, state. “A grand and dramatic entrance,” the Emperor said towards the crowd. “Yes, I think this is one of my sons indeed.”

There was polite, slightly nervous laughter from the assembled Falcons.

“Sanguinius, I will now witness your acceptance of the legion.”

Sanguinius turned to the front of the balcony. “Captain Raldoron, post!”

Raldoron doubled-timed from the front of the formation, up the stairs to the balcony, lit torch in hand. He advanced to Sanguinius and extended the torch to him.

“Sire, as Legion Master I yield the guiding light of the Crimson Warfalcons to you, our father and our primarch.”

“Sanguinius, do you accept?” asked the Emperor.

Sanguinius reached out and grasped the torch below Raldoron’s hand. “I do accept the guiding light of the IX Legion.”

Raldoron released the torch and Sanguinius walked to the front of the balcony again, holding it over his head. He stood there for a dramatic moment, then placed it in a sconce that was on the wall for just that purpose. He stood before the Emperor, who lifted a gold-sheathed sword and held the pommel out to him. Sanguinius placed his right hand upon it.

“Sanguinius of Baal,” the Emperor intoned, “do you swear to be my instrument and my weapon?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to live your life for the advancement of the Imperial Truth and the protection of Terra?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to live as my general and the primogenitor of your legion, forsaking any and all other allegiances, from your own world or any other but mine?”

Baal Secundus. The Conclave. The Blood. His lands and flocks. “I do,” Sanguinius said, although his voice caught in his throat. 

“Then take this sword from my hand and wield it in the Great Crusade, Primarch Sanguinius.”

Sanguinius took the sword as ordered, then allowed the Emperor to buckle it around his waist. Sanguinius went to the front of the balcony again and looked down at his sons. He drew the sword and lifted it over his head.

“I have been meditating on you, my sons. You are the Crimson Warfalcons no more. Just as the tribes of Baal Secundus adopted me, they shall adopt you, and you will become as one people.

“Rise, my Blood Angels!”

After that, all else was anticlimax.

A reception in one of the massive palace halls followed. Severina grabbed Sanguinius before he crossed through the balcony doors to do a rapid, almost panicked touch-up on his hair and makeup. Horus waited for him, then took his hand and they walked to the designated hall. The enormous chamber was white marble with gold details, hung with red banners displaying the IX Legion emblem.

Sanguinius was positively giddy. All of his captains were present at the reception. The legionaries ranked sergeant and below were at a party of their own to which he’d later be making an appearance. Horus stayed close to Sanguinius, a solid, grounding presence in pearly white armour. Magnus was nearby, making sure Sanguinius had a constant supply of food and drink. He was glad for his eidetic memory, because he would never have been able to keep track of all the Blood Angels he was meeting. 

When he went down to the gardens where the lower-ranked legionaries were celebrating, he found that they had been alerted to his approach and were all standing in a mass formation. They came to attention as he and Fulgrim came into view.

“Tell them ‘as you were’,” Fulgrim said to Sanguinius.

“As you were!”

“You’ll find that will be your greeting to anyone ranking beneath you,” Fulgrim murmured. “Just have those words on your lips the second you walk into a room.”

The problem was that even though they came out of the position of attention, they stayed in formation. Furthermore, a few moments later, he began to hear sobbing. Sanguinius only knew that he was nervous because his wings started trembling.

“Fulgrim, they’re crying. Why are they crying?”

“Astartes always become emotional when they first meet their primarch,” he whispered. “Remember how you felt when you first met Father?”

Sanguinius nodded and walked to the Blood Angel standing at the front right corner of the formation. On instinct, Sanguinius wrapped his arms around him, then let go and moved on to the next.

It took three hours, but at the end of that time, Sanguinius had embraced each and every sergeant, battle brother and neophyte in the IX Legion.

 

Horus came to Sanguinius’s quarters to spend the night. They were both already out of armour, so Horus immediately got under the covers of the bed. Sanguinius said he wanted a shower right away.

“Are you going to wash the blond out of your hair?” Horus asked.

Sanguinus lifted a hand to his hair. “I could. Should I? I didn’t get a chance to ask what you thought about it.”

Horus smiled. “The correct answer is that you’d look beautiful no matter what colour your hair was. The truth is that I don’t like it more or less than your natural colour. It’s different.” He reached up to run his fingers through the gold-coloured strands. “Why don’t you leave it for tonight. If the dye comes out easily, you should think about experimenting with other colours.”

“Be careful. I might come to you with pink or blue hair one day.”

“If anyone can wear that successfully it’s you, my angel.”

Sanguinius stopped to clean the makeup off his face first, using a bottle of cleanser he’d been given for that purpose. He had another bottle to remove the dye from his hair, and would use that later. He showered, dried off, and joined Horus in bed. 

“Do you feel differently about me?” Sanguinius asked as he snuggled against Horus. 

“A little, yes,” Horus said. “That’s the purpose of ritual, of course, to effect a change in our consciousness. When I saw you this morning, you were my brother and friend. When you first came onto the balcony tonight, though, you were magnificent. Godlike. Now that we’re in private again, and you’re here in my arms, you still have a measure of that. And no, it’s not just the change in hair colour.” 

“I hope you aren’t so over-awed that you won’t have your way with me anymore,” Sanguinius said with a grin.

“Oh no. Don’t worry about that,” Horus answered, and proceeded to demonstrate.

 

The next day’s work found Sanguinius sitting at a desk, dressed in a set of gold armour that was more streamlined and less decorative than the night before. Raldoron stood beside and to the left of him.

“A few more things for your consideration,” Raldoron said. “It is advisable to select a number of legionaries as your personal guard. The Emperor, beloved of all, has his Custodes and Companions—“

“And my brother Horus has his Justaerin, Fulgrim has his Phoenician Guard, and so on,” Sanguinius said. “I’ve been giving thought to my Sanguinary Guard. You and I will set up interviews today. I am excluding you, because you’re my First Captain, and Horus suggested I should make you my equerry.”

Raldoron’s normally neutral expression gave way to joyful shock. “Sire!”

“Don’t look so surprised, Ral,” Sanguinius laughed. “Is it all right if I call you Ral?”

“You can call me anything you want, Sire.”

“All right, Anything You Want Sire.” To Sanguinius’s disappointment, Raldoron didn’t blink. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve been handling all my business since we first met, and keeping me on track. I do intend to select some assistants for my more pedestrian tasks; I don’t expect you to make me my tea, for instance.”

“I would be honoured to do even that, Sire.”

“No doubt.”

“In half an hour, Brother-Sergeant Phineas will be coming by with the first novices from the Baal system. They will be escorting a shipment of gifts for you from the various populations on Baal and its moons. All of them have been screened and inventoried, so you can accept them. They are artwork and household-type goods, including furniture and carpets.”

“Excellent. Who are the novices?”

“The usual groups the legions recruit. It’s inadvisable to take a boy after he’s stopped growing, and it’s safest if they are pre-pubescent. It’s an honour for a community to provide candidates for the Adeptus Astartes, and the Baal system has been no exception. When you make your inaugural voyage back to the Baal system, you’ll be laying the cornerstone for the fortress-monastery. Until it is built, they will be trained on the Red Tear.” Raldoron paged through the data slate. “You’ll be having lunch with the captains of First through Tenth companies. After that, you’ll have a short meeting to discuss the furnishings and design of your staterooms on the Tear. It should not be very long, but the designer is quite concerned with your furniture accommodate your…ah…”

“Wings,” Sanguinius said. “I don’t want anyone to treat them like an elephant in the room. They are huge. They are inconvenient. They can’t be ignored.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Lord Sanguinius has great honking wings and they get in the way. Say it.”

“Sire!”

Sanguinius fixed Raldoron with a glare. “Say it.”

“You have wings, Sire.”

“No. Say what I told you to. Say it!”

Raldoron licked his lips. “Lord Sanguinius has great honking wings. And they get in the way.”

“Much better. Now, to meet the novices.”

 

That evening found Sanguinius running to Horus’s chambers without a dinner invitation.

“You look upset,” Horus observed as he entered Horus’s rooms.

Sanguinius, dressed in tan and red duty robes, dropped onto a corner of Horus’s desk. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.”

Horus stood up from his desk and walked over to his brother. He and Sanguinius embraced and shared a kiss. He took Sanguinius’s hand and led him to a couch where Sanguinius could sit with his wings hanging over the arm.

“The Blood Angels have started building their fortress on Baal. They have their first band of aspirants who are not from Terra.”

“That’s excellent.”

“Why is the monastery on Baal, though? I’m not from Baal; I’ve never even been there. I’m from Baal Secundus. And why were the first aspirants chosen and taken to the Red Tear without me being told about it?”

Horus looked puzzled. “Is this a problem?”

“Well…slightly. Perhaps I am oversensitive.”

“Perhaps. Illuminate me to how you are feeling, exactly.”

“As if I am losing my planet. Baal Secundus is a horrible place with a primitive, patriarchal culture that needs to be dragged into the current era. Still, I took it from a bunch of tiny tribes that feuded for decades, if not centuries, and turned it into a coherent fighting force that was proud of itself. I feel that it’s not good enough, that the Blood aren’t good enough, and that’s why the monastery isn’t being built on Secundus.”

“Not at all. A large number of the aspirants are from Secundus.”

“And that’s another thing. They’re Sanguinii; orphans raised by the Blood the way I was. Shouldn’t I have had some input? Those boys are a vulnerable group, and I should have been sent to talk to them about what they were being taken to do. And what about the girls?”

“I don’t understand,” said Horus. “You’re a primarch now. Why is this a concern to you, when we have the Great Crusade to occupy our attentions?”

“You don’t feel proprietary towards Cthonia and its people?”

Horus shook his head. “Granted, I was a child when my father found me. You were an adult.” He considered. “Perhaps you should talk to Fulgrim about this. His story is much more like yours.”

Sanguinius nodded. “So, you have no advice about this.”

“I do not. I fail to see any kind of problem. I am with the Crusade, and content to let my old legion master oversee recruiting and training of novices. It means I don’t have to.”

Sanguinius kissed Horus’s cheek and left the room.

“It is…a delicate thing,” Fulgrim told Sanguinius as he placed a tea set on the table in front of them along with two plates, each with a perfect yellow lemon square on it, garnished with a sprig of mint and a raspberry. “It tore me apart to have to leave Chemos in the hands of others, but it had to be done.”

Sanguinius inhaled the aroma from the tea. It was jasmine, and jasmine inexplicably grew on Secundus. “You understand, then.”

“I do. When I was growing up, Chemos was a nightmare planet, not unlike Cthonia, only less developed. As a young adult, I not only developed its industry, I got the arts going as soon as we had a positive cash flow. It’s why they call me the Phoenician, because I raised living beauty out of ashes. Then the Emperor came and took me away from all that. I was a patron of the arts, Sanguinius. Those artists were like my creative children. While I still receive them on the Pride of the Emperor sometimes, and I get news of how the creative arts scene is doing on Chemos, I have not been back there since.”

“I’m also worried about the boys taken to be aspirants, and about what will happen to the girls.”

“This is where you have to remember that although you have duties as a primarch, you also have privileges,“ Fulgrim told him. “I can understand your being upset about their taking orphan boys to be aspirants without asking you how you feel about it. Especially since you were once one of those boys yourself. What’s done is done; they’re bound for Astartes-hood or being a legion serf now. Still, we have communication. You can do a visual conference with the novice masters, and with the boys themselves. As a matter of fact, if you can’t get to Baal to talk to the boys, you should absolutely do that.”

Sanguinius nodded. “They will be encouraged if they can see and hear me.”

“Yes. As for the girls, again, you’re a primarch. Tell the Blood about how it will be. They and any boys not chosen will be housed in a school, educated, taught skills. You have this power, even if you’re not there. Still,” and Fulgrim took on an uncharacteristically serious tone, “your days of leading the tribes on Baal Secundus are over. You are leader of the Blood Angels, and you’ll be getting new legionaries from Baal Secundus in due time. Any of your efforts towards Secundus are going to have to be in the context of enhancing the IX Legion. Am I making sense?”

Sanguinius nodded. “It will take getting used to. I’m used to being hands-on with my home moon.”

“What have you not had to get used to?” Fulgrim asked gently. “You’ve had to learn to fly, take on a new way of living.” He smiled. “A new way of loving, when it comes to Horus. You’ll adjust. You always do.”

There were more blows yet to come. Magnus departed back to his fleet without fanfare, teleporting to one of his ships with a bang of displaced air. A week later, Fulgrim departed to join his fleet. Sanguinius hadn’t been prepared for how much that would hurt. He and Horus put on their armour and embraced their purple-clad brother before he entered his personal Stormbird to depart for the Pride of the Emperor. Horus and Sanguinius held hands and wept as it vanished into the twilit sky. 

“When is it your turn?” Sanguinius asked softly as they walked into the palace.

“Soon,” Horus told him gently. “I don’t have precise orders yet, but I will, and so will you. Your first trip is to Baal, of course, and from there you’ll start your part of the Crusade.”

Sanguinius’s eyes fell. “I see.”

“We still have a little time.” Horus laid his hand on Sanguinius’s shoulder. “I knew this was coming; I always do. I’ve had time to come to terms with our being separated, and I knew you’d be upset when you heard.” 

They went back to Sanguinius’s quarters. Once there, Horus took Sanguinius’s hand and led him over to an overstuffed chair. Horus sat and guided Sanguinius onto his lap. “I was thinking about our parting, a few days ago, and I realized we should do some things to remind ourselves that we’re a couple. This is what I thought of.” Horus reached into a pouch on his belt and took out a small jewelry box. “Here.”

Sanguinius opened the box and removed the ring inside. It was a smooth black band, inlaid with the phases of the moon in what looked like mother-of-pearl.

“Moons for the Luna Wolves?” Sanguinius asked.

Horus nodded. “It’s ceramite, so you don’t have to worry about it getting damaged. It’s just something to remember me by when we’re apart.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about me forgetting you, Horus.”

Horus took the ring and slipped it onto the third finger of Sanguinius’s left hand. “I want to show the galaxy that you’re loved.”

They embraced for a few moments before Sanguinius said, “I have an idea.”

He slid off Horus’s lap and walked over to one of the chests that had been brought to him from Baal. Inside was a folded dark-blue quilt. He lifted it out and opened it to display the spacescape on it.

“This was one of my gifts. The red sphere and the two smaller ones are Baal and its moons. What I was thinking was that we could put it on our bed, whenever we’re together. I’ll just keep it with me on the Red Tear and take it out when our paths cross.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Horus said, and took the two bottom corners to admire it. “It’s beautiful. Your people must really love you.”

Sanguinius smiled. “I think they warmed up to me, after the first sixty or so years, yes.”

 

As the Red Tear did its initial sea trials and short-range tests, Horus’s battleship the Vengeful Spirit readied to depart. 

“No tears,” Horus told Sanguinius.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I can’t have you starting to cry before I leave. If you do, I might start myself, and that’s not something I can allow my men to see. I’m their father. What will they think?”

Nonetheless there were tears, many of them, as they held each other under the spacescape quilt in Horus’s bedroom that night.

“I’m very glad that we don’t need to sleep every night,” Horus said, as he stroked Sanguinius’s hair. “I want to be conscious every moment we’re still together.”

He’d restored it to its natural dark colour for the occasion. “I don’t feel bright and sunny,” he told Horus by way of explanation. “I feel dark and diminished, knowing that you’re going to leave. Especially since it might be years or decades before we see each other again.”

Still, they both retained their aloof bearing as Horus prepared to depart. They exchanged their last kiss in private, and Horus also kissed the black ring on Sanguinius’s hand. They did embrace where Horus’s men could see; expressions of love between primarchs was something the Astartes found reassuring. 

Sanguinius stood quietly as he watched Horus leave, only the trembling in his wings giving away the depths of his emotion. He returned quietly to his room and folded the quilt, placing it into a wooden chest at the foot of his bed. Then, still in armour, he threw himself forward onto his bed, sobbing violently, his wings pulled defensively around himself. He hadn’t been alone like this since he’d arrived on Terra, over a year ago now.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The Emperor sat on the bed beside him, dressed in a white tunic and purple toga.

“It does hurt,” He told Sanguinius. “I know how you feel towards Horus, and I am glad for you both. Still, don’t think my own heart is unbroken whenever one of you leaves me.”

“I’ve lost people before,” Sanguinius told Him. “Over and over. Why is it different now?”

“Because we’re family, and we all share the most unique bond,” the Emperor explained. “Your tears do not shame you, Sanguinius.” He wiped them from Sanguinius’s cheeks, then took His son’s hand. “Come with me. We’ll share a pitcher of wine, and if you need to weep again, we shall weep together.”

Finally, it was time for the Red Tear to depart. There were more tears at the thought of parting from Terra, and the Emperor, but Sanguinius had Raldoron to lean on. More importantly, Sanguinius had Azkaellon, who had shown himself to be a sympathetic listener with a great deal of patience. Sanguinius regretted having made Azkaellon head of the Sanguinary Guard rather than his Equerry, but it was too late to change things now.

Still, when Sanguinius set foot on the bridge of the Red Tear, that same feeling of rightness came to him as it had the first time he’d put on armour and seen himself in a mirror. The space was as large as a cathedral and just as high, but he didn’t experience any of the disorientation or nervousness he had when he’d first come to Terra and seen the architecture there. 

“Your command throne, sire,” Raldoron said, gesturing with a red gauntlet towards a low-backed, baroque gold chair behind the Admiral’s own.

Sanguinius walked up to it, then shook his head. “I’ve read the service record of Admiral Parn Eventide,” he said. “I approved of his remaining in charge of this ship. I won’t dishonour him by taking a place of authority on the bridge. It belongs to him, not to me.”

Silence reigned for a moment, and Sanguinius became aware that every officer, rating, and servitor on the bridge was staring at him. 

“As you were,” he told them firmly. “You’d think you’d never seen a man with wings before. Holy Throne.”

Admiral Eventide walked up to him and bowed. “You honour me, sire, but may I ask you to take your place in the throne, just this once? You will doubtless enjoy watching the solar system as we pass it, and I would like for you to be comfortable.”

Sanguinius nodded and smiled. “I will do as you say.” He sat in the command throne and twitched his wings into a comfortable position. “Admiral, command is yours.”

“Yes, Primarch Sanguinius. By your word.”

FIN


End file.
